Aberration
by shoefreak37
Summary: Distortion, deviation, wandering.  For centuries, Carlisle held fast to the plan he was sure had been laid out for him by a force much more divine than himself. After he takes Edward for a companion, the direction of his path becomes skewed.
1. Prologue

**This story will contain slash, which means a pairing involving two men. Don't expect anything else. :)**

**Author's note: New story. Thanks to ms-ambrosia for being the sweetest and best friend-beta ever. Thanks to vampireisthenewblack for pulling my attention to Edward and Carlisle. I can't promise any kind of update schedule. I have a bit pre-written, but I don't know how much that will help. This is short. It's a prologue and shit.**

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns The Twilight Saga and its characters. No copyright infringement intended. **

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The guests are arriving, the decorations hung; the tables are set. The overpowering scent of freesia fills Edward's already addled head, and he stares at himself in the mirror, trying to decipher where he belongs in the bedlam that is his wedding day - _his _and _Bella's _wedding day.

Scarcely believing he could ever find himself pledging his existence to another, he places his hands onto the countertop and leans in to inspect himself closer. He turns his head from side to side, taking in each of the chiseled lines of his face, wondering how his faults are not evident. He feels them as though they were branded into his flesh with a heat extreme enough to turn stone to liquid, but the hardened skin he stares at is unmarred - infuriatingly perfect.

How is it that he can even entertain the idea of committing himself to Bella with a promise of forever, when he does not even have holding over his own soul? Any soul he had once possessed had been traded.

Yes, his soul had been traded, and it had been _worth _it.

Turning away from the mirror, he scoffs at the absurdity of where his thoughts are heading. Today, after all the suppression, all the denial, all the hiding, Edward entertains musings which he has attempted to pay no mind to.

Three years. 1,137 days. 27,290 hours. 1,675,215 minutes. 100,512,907 seconds. Each second, every minute, all those hours, every day of those years were measured by the flex of _his _fingers, the movement of _his _lips, the rhythmic sound of _his _breathing. Three years and that was all. It would have to be enough.

Exiting the bathroom, Edward enters his bedroom where he finds Jasper waiting on him.

"Everyone that matters is here now, Edward," Jasper says, his eyes communicating what his thoughts do not. Of all Edward's family members, it is Jasper that understands him the most, although Edward speaks to him the least.

"Turn it on," Edward requests, giving Jasper a quick upturn of his lips. Jasper has made a promise not to manipulate any emotions today, but Edward has realized he will need his brother's gift if he is to make it through with any semblance of normality.

"Sure," Jasper replies. "What flavor? You want...confidence?" Edward feels himself bolstered within seconds, but shakes his head. "Calm?" The feelings radiating off his brother change, and Edward feels lethargic. He shakes his head again. "Love?" Love would make sense. Love should be what Edward wants to feel on his wedding day, but he grows uneasy as the emotion intensifies, radiating and undulating from Jasper. Edward shakes his head another time. Jasper furrows his brow, confused.

"Can you make me content?" Edward asks, sliding his arms into his jacket.

"For a time," Jasper answers. Once again, the words he does not speak or think are displayed on his features. Edward does not waste thought on what Jasper knows and accepts the only wedding gift he can make use of.

"Thank you," Edward says. "Would you mind keeping that up for the next hour or so?"

Jasper nods before saying, "I'll leave you now. Is there anyone you would want me to send in?"

Edward rolls the question around in his head, letting it blanket his mind, before he answers. Knowing who he would like to have with him - also knowing it would not be right - he replies, "No."

Even with the stream of contentment supplied by his brother, Edward still battles against emotions that he had hoped would remain dormant. Honestly, Edward knows that the intensity of what he feels never lay dormant; he spent years ignoring it before he found a replacement.

The reality is, Edward does everything with the singular purpose of pleasing _him_ - nothing is out of the question if it garners his approval, even if it be temporary. A few words, a pat on the back, a firm embrace are all Edward needs to sustain him, to feel content. Again, Edward tries to turn his thoughts away but wars with himself.

Despair, hope, lust, disgust, love, contentment...regret.

Edward cannot afford to regret. To one who lives forever and never sleeps, regret is a dangerous thing.

Opening the top drawer of his dresser, Edward looks upon the tiny snuff box he has kept hidden away. He brushes the tips of his fingers across its tarnished surface and quickly shuts his eyes, closing the drawer without removing it.

The thoughts of the guests ring through his head like church bells, full of joy and mirth and expectancy. Edward does not wish to hear them. The only thoughts he wants to hear - cares to hear - are as easy for him to pick out as _Chopsticks _on the piano.

So, Edward finds them, the ponderings familiar and constant, strong and sage, wise and pure. He finds them and he sighs, allowing the errant thoughts to caress his mind in the only kind of intimacy he has allowed himself all these years.

_Carlisle._


	2. The Physician

**Disclaimer: I don't own blah, blah, blah. Don't sue blah, blah, blah. No copyright infringement intended. Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters blah.**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and faves. I sure do appreciate it! Huge thanks for forever to ms_ambrosia. She is way more than just an awesome beta; she is an awesome friend. **

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Things were getting dire; Carlisle knew it. Personally, he had witnessed countless bodies being taken to the morgue, and everywhere he went he saw signs of the silent killer - influenza - closing its fist around the city of Chicago. Though he drank blood and was forced to live in shadow, he was aware that the disease ravaging the city was the monster - not he.

Carlisle had never felt so lonely, never felt so separate from humanity as he did witnessing mortality firsthand, and he saw it so very often. He pondered the temporary status that was human life, following the last light of day as it sank below the horizon, making his way to the hospital.

The first patient he had lost had been the hardest: a woman, late twenties, two children. Her body was so hot, her hand so slick with sweat as he held it in his. She had died with her eyes closed, for which Carlisle was grateful, her hair matted to her head, lips and nose blue. The sounds of her breath had traveled through Carlisle's ears and pierced his heart; she drowned in the fluid of her lungs while Carlisle lamented not needing to breathe.

Praying over her body, Carlisle had tried to weep but realized quickly his tears would never come to fruition. Later, when he lost two more patients the same day as the first, Carlisle was appreciative he could not cry; he needed to work.

Carlisle felt guilt over his consistent state of health, although he would not be nearly as useful were he human. He tried to concentrate on that, and thank God for his unnatural state, because although he was lonely, removed from the human race, the gifts he had been given were useful. He would not disappoint by wasting them.

Almost to work, Carlisle was lost in thought about his long life, wondering how much longer he would be given, if not forever. He was already over two and a half centuries old, no end in sight. Twenty-three years he had lived as a human before he had been turned into the beast he was, and each day after he had been alone. There was a time he spent with others that drank blood, but they fed off of the lives he had learned to save, so, still, he was removed. Often, he thought of how easy it would be to create a companion, to teach him the ways that Carlisle had created - to drink the blood of animals. That was something he refused to think on for too long, however, because he had promised God long ago that he would preserve human life, never take it.

As he rounded the last corner before the hospital, Carlisle heard a cough followed by the sound of liquid hitting the sidewalk. He shifted his eyes from his feet to the sound and saw a gentleman that appeared to be in his mid-thirties clutching a lamp post looking sallow in the low light. A young man was approaching him quickly.

"Hey!" the young man shouted. "You know you can be arrested for spitting in the street." His tone was indignant, his features angered, until he saw the man stumble, leaning more of his weight against the post.

The older man had obviously fallen ill - yet another member of the community refusing to admit they were in need of help. Carlisle had seen it many times, men and women overexerting themselves, attempting to ignore what they could not. Carlisle walked towards the pair, knowing that in the gentleman's weakened state, he would not fight Carlisle when he insisted on taking him to the hospital.

By the time he reached the ill gentleman, the young man already had him propped up, letting the sick man rest his weight against him. Carlisle readily chastised him for it.

"You will get sick, young man. You must back away from him. I will see that he gets to the hospital," Carlisle said, shifting the man's heavy weight from the boy to his marble shoulders.

"I am on my way to the hospital. I can help-"

"No, I must insist you allow me. You should not visit the hospital, regardless. Who is this man to you?" Carlisle asked, curious that the young man would expose himself to one who was already showing many signs of influenza.

"My neighbor. I do not know him well, but I wish to visit the hospital because my father is quite ill. I know the wards are understaffed and I worry he has no one to care for him. You see, my mother tries to see to him, but she is growing weak herself. I convinced her to remain home and rest while I check on Father," the boy said, voice rising and insistent. Carlisle could tell from the stubborn set of his jaw that he would not yield.

"Visit the hospital then, but, please, let me assist this man. You need all the fresh air you can get if you intend on entering the hospital. The air you insist on breathing there is thick with death." Carlisle was saddened that the young man would throw away his health, but shrugged off the feeling, understanding that if his father was already suffering than he and his mother would not be far behind. It was difficult in those days to keep the illness from spreading, especially between families.

"I have been many times already. I am still well and will remain well," the young man replied adamantly.

Carlisle resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Unlike other diseases, this strain of influenza seemed to infect the seemingly young and healthy, leaving many children and elderly people unaffected. Carlisle could scarcely remember what it felt like to be human and believe oneself to be invincible, although at one time, he had.

The three began walking, Carlisle trying to slacken his pace as though he were hindered by the sick man he carried.

Glancing every few moments at his healthy companion, Carlisle pondered how old he was. His cheeks still held some child-like roundness, although the line of his jaw was becoming prominent. Perusing his appearance, Carlisle noted that the hair that lay haphazardly across his head was the oddest shade - almost the color of copper. He was lanky and lean, but Carlisle could not see the color of his eyes. Carlisle wanted to know his name.

"What is your name, young man?" Carlisle asked.

"What is _your _name?" he returned. "You do not look much older than me. Why do you call _me _'young man'?"

Carlisle chuckled quietly, shifting the sick gentleman who moaned at the jostling. "I am sure to be much, much older than you. My name is Carlisle...Dr. Cullen."

"That explains your late night trip to the hospital."

"Yes, it does," Carlisle nodded. "Why do you go so late?"

"Mother does not want Father alone," he answered. "It was her or me. I chose me."

Carlisle thought the young man noble, if not completely stupid. Obviously, his mother had already been exposed; it was no wonder she wanted to keep him from the hospital.

"How old are you?" Carlisle blurted, unable to believe how prying he was being.

"Seventeen. You?"

"Older than that."

"I am going to be a soldier when I turn eighteen next year. Do you think this sickness will be over then?" he asked, looking around the quiet street. Carlisle was saddened further by the young man's innocence. Even with the dead and dying all around, he thought of going to war. Did he not realize he would only be met with more death? Could he not see that the disease was only spreading and by the next year even more people would be affected?

"No," Carlisle answered truthfully. "No, I do not."

Sometimes, Carlisle wanted to give up, to retreat to some isolated island in the middle of nowhere and stay there until the disease was over and the world's population was cut in half. But that would go against the plan he was sure God had for him. No matter how infinitesimal the help he gave was, it was help all the same - help that might not have been provided were Carlisle hidden away.

They were quiet the last moments of their walk, save the muffled groans and occasional coughs of the man that leaned on Carlisle. They arrived at the hospital, and as they bid each other a good evening, Carlisle was able to see that the young man had green eyes; they reminded him of the first time he had truly seen the color upon waking as a monster - vivid and bright.

Carlisle realized that he had not learned the young man's name.

~oOo~

Carlisle was always grateful for the first breath of fresh air after his shifts ended. Although he existed to heal, the hospital was filled to bursting with all the worst of human scents: sweat, vomit, and waste, and he could never grow used to it. There were times when it became nearly overwhelming to his hyper-sensitive senses, and he would stop breathing for a time.

Keeping an eye out for the young man, Carlisle had only seen him again as the boy exited the hospital, looking more careworn than he had upon entering. Carlisle worried for the lad, hoping that somehow the disease would pass him by, although he knew it was unlikely.

With his shift over, Carlisle began making his way to his home on the outskirts of the city. He remembered, as he walked, that it was Sunday.

The night had been overcast and Carlisle could feel the humidity in the air; he was quite confident the sun would not shine until quite later in the day. That being the case, on days that were overcast he enjoyed loitering outside of church, listening to the service, the devout parishioners, and the music. Never being so bold as to enter the church, Carlisle remained hidden. Still, there were times when he would imagine entering, shaking hands with the minister, bowing his head and praying with others. Carlisle appreciated that, while businesses had closed, schools and church services were -for the most part- still active.

Carlisle settled in at a safe distance from the church; he could only imagine what someone would think were he found. He had several hours to wait before the service would start, and, as usual, his thoughts inevitably turned towards his human life. Thinking of his father, an Anglican pastor, he wondered what he would make of him and what he had become. Directly after he had been changed, Carlisle had fled from the city he had lived, fearing that he would be sought out and ended the way countless others had after being accused of demonic things. The countless 'witch hunts' Carlisle had been charged to go on were all the proof he needed to understand that his father would not have hesitated to attempt to destroy him.

Chuckling, Carlisle found it humorous that he was ever foolish enough to think a mere human could destroy monsters. _He _was the product of one such 'witch hunt' that had ended badly. Others like him were virtually indestructable; only another of his kind could ever hope to destroy him.

Placing his face in his hands, Carlisle prayed for his soul the way he had done countless times before. He had always found it ironic that he took more human life as the son of a pastor, than as one who lives off of blood. Carlisle remained hidden and continued to pray for his soul, for the souls of the innocent lives he had taken, for all the death around him, and for his path to remain clear, his purpose evident.

Prayer frequently seemed to aid in the passing of time, and it felt as though only moments had passed when he began to hear the first parishioners arrive. Carlisle enjoyed listening to their chatter, hopeful in knowing that joyful banter could still be exchanged in such a trying time.

As the service commenced, a call to worship was played on the organ. Carlisle felt closest to God through music. The sounds emitted from the chapel generally warmed Carlisle -made him feel almost human again- but that morning the tune was mournful. The organ player at that particular church always poured such emotion into what they were playing, and Carlisle could feel the torment they must have been going through. Generally, the sound was so joyous; Carlisle was almost certain of what could be causing such sorrow. Was no one left unaffected? Even though the hymn was sad and slow, Carlisle thought it beautiful all the same.

The pastor delivered his sermon; the underlying theme the same as it had been for weeks - seek redemption immediately because each day brought more death. Carlisle agreed with him, thinking that faith was an important thing to hold on to when life was so uncertain.

Carlisle listened to the full sermon and the benediction. He listened as the pastor led the church-goers in a final prayer - some of the parishioners muttering requests for health, for long-life for themselves and loved ones. He himself prayed that God would hear them and reward their piousness by answering their requests.

Hearing the click of the double doors as they opened, Carlisle counted the footsteps of each person as they left; it was something he had taken to doing each service he was able to attend. For some reason, he wanted to know how many of the flock had fallen ill. He wondered how many of those people he had counted were treated -or died- at the hospital, how many secret prayers he had heard murmured that were not answered. Never allowing himself a close proximity to the church, Carlisle was unfamiliar with any faces or scents of the attendees, so there would never be a way for him to know.

Once he was certain everyone had filtered from the church, he silently slipped inside the sanctuary. The doors were never locked throughout the day on Sundays; Carlisle had waited and listened many times before to know that was a fact. Although he was not brave enough to attend a church service inside the chapel, being inside the sanctuary brought him a small measure of comfort.

Walking to the organ, Carlisle sat on the bench, laying his fingers on the keys. They seemed warm to him, heated somewhat by the fingers that had pressed them moments before. He took a deep breath, smelling the tiniest bit of raw sugar.

Carlisle started to get up and head back to his home when he heard the beating of a heart approaching the double doors at the back of the sanctuary. His first instinct was to hide or leave quickly, but he had been so lonely -so isolated- that he made the last minute decision to remain in the open, perhaps speak to a human being that was not sick or dying. There were no rules about simply interacting with a human in some type of social situation.

Standing still, but not too still, Carlisle watched as the pastor reentered the sanctuary. The pastor walked down the aisle and had nearly made it to the pulpit when he saw Carlisle staring at him. Carlisle noticed he was a bit startled, jumping slightly, before he took a deep breath and smiled.

"Hello, young man," the pastor said, his aged face warm and friendly. "I do not recall seeing you here for the service. Was there something I could help you with?"

Carlisle immediately felt ridiculous for not having hidden himself. What did he have to talk about with that man? True, his father had also been a pastor, but that had been over two and a half centuries prior - in the the mid seventeenth century. Times had changed.

"My apologies for intruding," Carlisle started, offering a tight-lipped smile. "I have just finished a long shift at the hospital and was looking for a bit of solace."

"Oh. Oh, yes, I imagine you do need a reprieve," the pastor replied, his features immediately crestfallen. "Do you assist there?"

"I am a doctor."

"Really? You seem so young to be so accomplished."

"I hear that quite frequently. Believe me when I say I am much older than I look," Carlisle chuckled, walking towards the pastor. Once he was within a few feet of him, the elderly minister furrowed his brow and peered at Carlisle as though scrutinizing each feature.

"After having a closer look at you, my boy, I am inclined to believe you." He offered his hand to Carlisle, which the doctor took.

"Dr. Cullen...Carlisle," Carlisle stated, introducing himself.

"Pastor Little," he answered. Carlisle could tell from the confusion on Pastor Little's face that he had noticed the frosty temperature of the hand he shook. However, he was polite enough not to mention it. "Why have you chosen this place for quiet, Dr. Cullen?"

Carlisle contemplated the question in silence for several moments before answering. "All I have anymore is faith."

Pastor Little sat down on the closest pew, gesturing for Carlisle to sit next to him.

"Faith is something many people have lost lately. It is good you still have yours, but, why is that all you have?"

Sitting down next to the man, Carlisle said, "I have no more family, no friends. I feel separate from everyone." He thought he ought to stop talking, realizing that his loose tongue could get him in trouble, but he could not deny how cathartic it was to admit to someone a few simple truths. He knew that part of Pastor Little's occupation and calling was to counsel, and that was why he showed such interest, but it felt nice to feel that someone was concerned.

"I think part of being human is, at some point, feeling separate," he replied earnestly, placing a comforting hand on Carlisle's shoulder.

Carlisle had to stifle a chuckle, although he did not find the statement funny. "I do not want to feel that way any longer."

"I am certain that a nice-looking, accomplished young man, such as yourself, would have no problems finding a companion."

Shifting his eyes from the pastor, Carlisle looked at his hands. The words he had heard had been meant as a compliment, as a comfort, but they had the opposite effect. Everything he was at that moment - handsome, intelligent, eternally young - was because of the monster he had been morphed into. His accomplishments, his vigor, his looks were all skillfully designed to draw in prey, to maim, to kill. Being reminded of it by a man of God was unnerving. The way he felt at that moment was the exact reason he had not entered the church prior.

"If only it were that easy," Carlisle said, swallowing venom that had begun pooling in his mouth. Although he had control over his blood lust, it did not stop the scent of a human from creating a base reaction in his body. He was ashamed - not only by the venom - but by what he was. Carlisle felt uncomfortable suddenly, feeling as though he should not be in a house of God. Rising to leave, he nodded towards Pastor Little.

"You do not need to rush, Dr. Cullen. If you wish to have no company, I will leave you."

Carlisle's back was already to the minister. Although he did not wish to leave, he was compelled to. "Do you believe anyone is beyond redemption?" Carlisle said, forgetting himself, speaking without thought.

"I believe anyone with a soul can be redeemed. All they need do is ask."

Turning around to look at the man, Carlisle's mouth pulled down into a frown. "What if you have no soul? What if it was lost...or stolen?"

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Pastor Little requested, appearing more befuddled as each moment passed.

"Nevermind." Carlisle began to leave again, getting as far as the double doors at the back of the sanctuary.

"You needn't worry, Dr. Cullen. Obviously, you have a soul, or you would no longer ask such questions," he called.

"I have to believe you are right," Carlisle mumbled as he exited the church.


	3. The Innocent

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Twilight Saga or its characters. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Author's note: Thanks to ms-ambrosia for being so wonderful all around, fixing my errors, and virtually holding my hand. xoxo**

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Edward Masen's life was normal. His parents were loving, the house he lived in was average-sized, he wanted a dog and his mother said no, and his friends played baseball with him in the park - all normal things.

Before things changed and became so incomprehensibly abnormal, Edward had been anxious for some excitement, some change to break up the monotony. Being a seventeen year old boy, his head was full of dreams and expectations for what life as an adult would bring. As any young man, he felt being under the constant scrutiny of his mother and father was oppressive, and he could hardly wait to be freed.

All Edward thought about since turning seventeen was joining the war. Visions of heroics and medals and adoration consumed his thoughts. He had heard talk that the fighting might soon come to an end and selfishly thought his chance at glory might pass him by. Edward did not fully understand nor care what the fighting was over. The horrific, bloody events taking place on the other side of the world had no effect on him, so he did not fully grasp how far from glorious the war actually was. Most of the knowledge he had of war was garnered through gossip. Someone was assassinated somewhere far away and some people were upset about it.

Edward's ignorance was also extended to The Spanish Influenza. Although he had noticed as the school year had finished that a few of his classmates were absent, he had not thought much of it. After all, none of _his _friends were sick and neither was he; how bad could it be?

Edward remembered the day he realized how bad it was. His father was already ill, having been in the hospital for the previous eight days. Trying to pretend everything was normal, Edward's mother had gone about her regular business - keeping house and preparing Edward's favorite foods each day. Her false cheer made Edward worry more than if she had acted heartbroken; his mother, Elizabeth, had never been one to hide her emotions. But, even though his mother's behavior seemed ominous, Edward knew his father was one of the healthiest men in the community; in fact, he expected to see Edward Sr. come bursting through the front door any moment - rosy cheeks and a bar of chocolate melting in his pocket. That did not happen, however, and would never happen again.

The evening was normal for the most part, just like the rest of Edward's life, Elizabeth busy in the kitchen boiling pasta on the stove. Edward was looking forward to the meal; spaghetti was one of his favorite dishes and not one his mother prepared often. At times he would enter the kitchen, watching the noodles coil and curl in the bubbling pot. His mother shooed him to the side so she could stir, complaining that Edward was going to cause the pasta to stick.

Elizabeth had been humming softly as she worked in the kitchen, but stopped at she tended the pot, sighing and wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. Edward shifted his eyes towards his mother, noticing her coloring was off.

"Do you feel well?" Edward asked, concerned by his mother's apparent fatigue.

"What?" she replied, glancing at Edward. "Oh, yes, I feel fine. Simply tired from late nights with your father at the hospital." Edward felt guilty, but pursed his lips and bit his tongue. It was not like he had not offered to stay with his father every night.

Edward could see she was pale, her eyes glassy. "Let me help you," he said, trying to take his mother's place at the stove.

"No, dear," she chastised. "This is my job. Do not worry over me." Elizabeth reached out to lightly shove her son out of the way but lost her balance. Reaching out to try to regain her footing, she grabbed the heated pot, her stumble knocking it off the stove as she burnt her hand.

Jumping back to avoid being splashed by the boiling water, Edward watched the noodles plop to the floor, stifling a giggle as he imagined his brains must look something like the pile of pasta that had collided with the ground. He was smiling, about to kid his mother about being so clumsy, until he looked at her, reaching out his arms to catch her just as her knees no longer held her up.

Edward held his breath as he waited on his mother to recover, to stand up straight and apologize for tripping; she did not. Quietly calling her name, Edward could not recall a time she had ever been so still, so pale, her lips seeming blue, so unlike the normal light pink.

For the first time since he had begun hearing horrific news of war and disease, Edward panicked.

~oOo~

Edward found himself once again at the hospital, a place he was becoming all too familiar with. Every other time he had been there, he had not paid attention to the despair and desolation that hung so thickly in the air, but after he saw both his parents lying in rickety hospital cots, present yet absent, he felt it more than anything he had ever felt. Such hopelessness he had not known possible, at least not for himself.

Within the next twenty-four hours, Edward found himself unable to eat, his arms and legs feeling as though they were filled with lead, his chest taut like his heart were a spool and a never-ending thread wrapped itself tighter and tighter. He blamed the atmosphere.

Edward went home for a short time to clean up, the quick trip from and back to the hospital leaving him exhausted. By the time he got back, he found his mother out of bed, seeming coherent for the first time since the night before when he had brought her in.

Elizabeth was crouched over Edward Sr., clasping his hand tightly and mumbling. When she realized her son had returned she stood up straight and turned towards him. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were half-closed, her gaze unfocused; Edward could hear the labored sounds of her breathing from across the five feet that separated them.

"You should be resting," Edward said, the panic he had begun experiencing barely disguised in his voice.

Elizabeth continued to stare at him with a glazed over expression, and Edward feared he might have to catch her again.

"Mother?" Edward said.

Startled, Elizabeth shook her head, focusing on her son. "You look pale, Edward," she started, walking towards him with outstretched arms. "Take my bed, lie down." She gestured towards her cot, her blankets stained from the salt of her sweat.

Edward refused to take her bed, not only because of the clearly soiled sheets, but because his mother was in much more need of it than him. "Mother, you need to stop worrying over Father and me. I'll take care of you for once, please," Edward said, taking his mother lightly by the arm and leading her back to her cot.

Shaking her head, Elizabeth replied, "It has always been my job...to take care of my husband and my son. It's my _job._"

"And you will be back to it soon enough," Edward replied. "You are very good at taking care of us, but everyone needs time for their health now and again." He spoke to her in a low, coaxing voice, as he would a small child. Edward knew she needed coddling; simply from being in her presence for a few moments, Edward could feel how volatile her emotions were, and he did not wish to upset her further.

"You need to see the doctor, Edward," she said, sitting down and wringing her hands. "You need to see him before... You need to see the doctor." Grabbing Edward's hands and pulling him down close to her face, she silently begged him with her eyes. Edward was close enough to smell her rancid breath, and he struggled not to turn away in disgust.

"Mother, the doctor's are busy with ill people. I am not ill."

"Edward..._please," _she implored, squeezing his fingers in her hands with a strength he was not aware she held. Edward sighed.

"Will you promise to rest a bit if I do?"

Nodding, Elizabeth laid down slowly. "A different doctor came to see me while you were away. You should find him. His hands felt nice...smooth and cool, like this marble column I pressed my cheek against as a girl..."

Edward furrowed his brow as he pried his fingers from his mother's grip; the way she spoke was frightening to him. He sat at the foot of her cot until she visibly relaxed, closing her eyes. From where he sat, he shifted his eyes towards his father. The only sounds Edward Sr. had made over the last few days were unintelligible moans and rattling inhalations.

Would he lose them both?

Refusing to allow his musings to head in that horrific direction, Edward rose to his feet, his head only spinning slightly. Deciding to keep his promise to his mother, Edward sought out a physician to allow himself to be examined. Not that it mattered, Edward was not sick, and even if he was, he saw how limited treatment was after his father fell ill.

The doctor found him before he found the doctor. It was that blonde man, Dr. Cullen, that he had met a few nights prior. Dr. Cullen walked towards Edward, his expression doing nothing for Edward's deflated hope.

The thrill of fear Edward had felt upon their first meeting was, once again, very present, and Edward shivered slightly, unable to look at the man in his strange, yellow eyes.

Dr. Cullen nodded at Edward slightly, a brief welcome. "Hello," he said. "How is your father?" The inquiry was short and void of hope, the look on the doctor's face indicating he already knew the answer.

Edward's lips were in a grim line, unsure if he could voice precisely how dire the circumstances had become. Although he had been panicking, he had yet to say out loud how ill both of his parents were. "Not good," he finally answered, still looking anywhere but at Dr. Cullen.

The doctor nodded at him and looked over Edward's face. "You do not seem quite well yourself."

Refusing to acknowledge the truth in what Dr. Cullen had said, Edward simply answered, "Mother would not agree to rest unless I sought out some medical advice. She is there." He gestured with his head towards the cot that his mother occupied a few feet away.

"Oh," Carlisle said, gazing at Elizabeth where she lay next to her husband. "I spoke with her a bit earlier in the evening. I was not aware these were your parents. I could not, considering you never properly introduced yourself. She spoke only of you. I assume that you are Edward?"

Nodding, Edward said, "I apologize for the way I would not give you a direct answer a few nights ago. I know I behaved rudely. My father's illness was weighing heavily on my mind." The words he spoke were lies; he knew that he did not want to answer the doctor's questions because he did not want Dr. Cullen to know things about him. There was something other-worldly about Dr. Cullen that Edward could not explain. Not only were his eyes the strangest color he had ever seen on a human, but the cadence with which he spoke was a different pace, the way he wore his hair long and pulled back at the base of his skull was old-fashioned. So many things about him were simply wrong, and Edward had the thirst to know why, yet was fearful of finding out as well. Because of those things that were wrong with Dr. Cullen, Edward had been glad for their brief encounter.

Dr. Cullen seemed as though he tried to smile, but it was half-hearted. "No apologies necessary, Edward."

Hearing his name spoken by someone so strange to him was unsettling to Edward. Dr. Cullen's voice was clear and cool, like the slightest ripple of waves across a previously undisturbed pond.

"So, I look unwell?" Edward asked, already knowing the answer he would receive. It did not matter; Edward was young enough - naive enough - to think that even if he was to become ill, he would recover. The idea of death was as unfamiliar to him as the doctor he spoke with.

Bringing his hands towards Edward's face, Dr. Cullen paused a moment before asking permission with a widening of his eyes. Edward indicated that he could proceed, and the doctor began firmly pressing the areas underneath Edward's ears, on his throat, and then traveled to the back of his neck. The way that Dr. Cullen touched Edward was so clinical, so practiced and sure. Paired with the iciness of his hands, the sensations made Edward want to shy away; he felt awkward, and he did not appreciate being scrutinized - even if it was at the request of his mother. But, he held still as the frozen hands of a stranger prodded him, longing for his mother's warm fingers tickling his cheeks when he was small, her quiet crooning guiding him to sleep.

After a few moments that seemed much longer than they were, Dr. Cullen spoke. "You should rest. How are you feeling right now?"

"Fine. I feel fine," Edward lied as the doctor stared at him, narrowing his eyes. Knowing the lie was pointless, Edward added, "My chest has been tight and I am feeling a bit tired."

Dr. Cullen nodded. "I have the feeling you are not being completely honest with me. No matter, as long as you will rest. I will try to find a cot for you. It might not be with your parents, but-"

"If I cannot stay with them lying down, then I will remain standing," Edward interrupted, knowing he would not allow himself to be separated from his family.

The doctor said nothing for a few seconds, Edward resisting the urge to squirm under his continued scrutiny.

"I promise to get a bed for you next to them," he finally said without blinking.

Edward inhaled deeply in relief, attempting to stifle a cough that itched in his chest. He covered his mouth and tried to quietly clear his throat, but the doctor continued to stare at him, concerned. Without another word, Dr. Cullen turned around and left.

Within an hour, another cot had been moved in between Edward's mother and father. Briefly, his mother woke up to see him lying close to her. Elizabeth reached out and Edward clasped her fingers; she smiled before closing her eyes again.

As the sounds of the bustling visitors and medical staff quietened, the sounds of the ill grew louder. The noises of the dying seemed amplified by the darkened area, the grating sounds of hacking, moaning, and crying bouncing throughout every crevasse and corner in the large space. Although his parents were on either side of him, Edward was frightened.

Like a child, he scooted his cot as close to his mother as possible. He knew that his father would scold him were he able - tell him he was supposed to be a man and self-sufficient - but Edward was slowly realizing that his father would most likely die at any time. Once Edward was close enough to Elizabeth, he sought out her hand. Finding her slender fingers, he brought them to his face, attempting to remove the traces of doctor's touches that he could still feel from earlier.

Edward, feeling so alone and frightened, could not stop the tears that began falling from his eyes. Lying on his side and looking towards his mother, the salty water left heated trails across the bridge of his nose and his temple, dampening his pillow. Although he could not stop them from coming, he refused to make any noise; Edward would not allow himself to fall to pieces.

With his mother's fingers twitching slightly against his cheek, Edward was able to sleep.

~oOo~

Over the next few days, Edward began to feel death coming to claim him. The hours passed like eons as he struggled to hold onto his life; he had only been alive seventeen years and had never even taken death into consideration.

Dr. Cullen would check on him in the evenings, placing his cold palms on the overheated flesh of Edward's forehead, his cheeks. Edward had never learned any of the other names of the people that cared for him, and had not tried. There would be no point to it.

Somehow, his mother still fought her way out of her sick bed to stand by Edward's and worry over him. The night his father died, he even heard her crying, and he wondered where she got the strength to do that. Edward had wanted to weep, but could not muster enough force to open his eyes for more than a few seconds.

That same night, the night Edward's father died, he had a vibrant dream. When he pondered it, he realized it was more of a memory. He dreamt of the time his mother was pregnant. Edward had been three and elated at the idea of having a baby brother or sister to play with. The boy across the street, Tommy, had a sibling, and Edward had wanted one as well.

As Edward dreamt of himself as a child, it was as though he were watching it play out. He was not inside his head, but outside, looking at himself.

Edward looked down at himself as he poked his mother's swollen abdomen, giggled as he watched his tiny self whisper a secret to the child inside. Edward watched as his father introduced him to his new baby sister, Vivian. Edward watched as he held her and smiled at his father, pointing out her round cheeks and tiny dimples. He followed himself into baby Vivian's nursery two weeks later when he found her, still and cold, face blue, no breath. Edward heard his mother weep for the daughter she had always wanted, that she only had for a short time.

The dream was all bits and pieces of an experience he had previously not been aware of, but dreaming of it, he was almost certain it had actually happened.

Edward was coming in and out of consciousness as he often did, and he heard his mother speaking with Dr. Cullen. Striving and toiling to breathe, the force of her words was surprising. Edward held hope that she might still survive. He only heard bits of what she was saying; the sicker he became, the more difficult it was to think.

"..._must...lose him, too_..."

"..._know...ask of me_..."

"..._others...do...must...do...my son, please_..."

Elizabeth's voice was strained and frantic; Edward wanted to ask why, but could only manage a groan, muffled by his closed mouth. Deciding he was too ill to worry about it, he allowed himself to slip back into sleep.

As he slept, Edward continued to have troubling dreams in which he was constrained, a weight on his chest, heavy locks of blonde hair encircling him and squeezing him like tentacles.

Unaware of how much later it was, Edward felt a biting sting in the skin of his throat. The moment he felt the sting, images flashed through his mind like disjointed thoughts, but they were not his thoughts; at least, they were not thoughts he ever remembered having.

He was in a cave, so hungry, so thirsty, but the thought of all the normal foods he enjoyed under ordinary circumstances caused him to recoil in disgust. He could not fathom partaking in what he actually wanted, although he was aware of what it was. The pain in his throat was maddening, and he kept his arms wrapped around himself, his razor sharp fingernails digging into the flesh of his upper arms. Edward felt as though he were struggling to keep himself in place. The wind shifted and he smelt something that caused his mouth to flood with saliva. No, it was not saliva, but he was not sure what he should call it. He heard a dozen pounding hearts and the thundering of hooves moments before he saw a herd of deer run past the mouth of the cave. Without a thought, he leapt, pinning a deer beneath his body and ripping out its throat with his teeth, the wet and warm blood gushing into his mouth and soothing the raging, burning ache in his throat...

Before Edward could comprehend what he had seen, the memory of the ache in his throat spread, and his whole body incinerated.


	4. Healing To All Their Flesh

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Author's note: Thanks ms-ambrosia for the beta and all the other stuff. Now I won't be doing a lot of backtracking when I switch whose head I'm in. This chapter is the exception. I really wanted to write what Carlisle might have been thinking before and while biting Edward. Hopefully that's okay. If not, just hold out for the next update. Although this covers the same time we went over in the last chapter, it's very different.**

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**_My child, be attentive to my words; incline your ear to my sayings. Do not let them escape from your sight; keep them within your heart. For they are life to those who find them, and healing to all their flesh. _The Bible, Proverbs 4:20-22

* * *

The woman awoke as soon as Carlisle touched her. Her bleary eyes shifted around the room before they widened in alarm, realizing she was not in her home, not simply waking from a deep sleep in her own bed. Trying to sit up, Carlisle urged her to remain stationary.

"Relax," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Looking towards where her husband lay, the woman calmed, the remembrance of where she was making her still.

"Where is Edward? He brought me here," she said, once again growing agitated.

"Edward? He's lying right there," Carlisle said, glancing towards the man in the other cot. He understood that someone would have had to have brought in the ill woman and wondered if she was confused; the gentleman had been in the hospital for over a week. He had not seen her when she was first brought in. Generally Carlisle made a point of examining each new patient as they were admitted, but the night before had been extremely busy, an abundance of people growing too sick to care for themselves. Although he trusted the other doctors, they were still human and fallible. Carlisle was not arrogant, but simply aware that being inhuman could be advantageous in certain situations.

"My son," she replied.

"Ah, I see. Named after his father over there," Carlisle said, gesturing towards Edward Sr. with his head. "He might have needed to step away for a bit," Carlisle said.

"Yes." She nodded, mostly to herself. "I wish he would stay away from this place, but who would care for him if he were on his own?"

"Is he very young? We can arrange for him to be taken care of."

"Yes...well, no," she said, closing her eyes and lying heavily against her pillow. "He is seventeen, old enough to be considered a man, I imagine. I cannot help but still think of him as my child. I mean, he still is _my_ child. I make no sense, do I?"

Carlisle chuckled and smiled at her. "I think I understand. What is your name?"

"Elizabeth," she replied, her eyes still closed.

"Well, Elizabeth, when I see your young Edward I will be sure to let him know you asked for him." Carlisle continued his examination of Elizabeth, using the unneeded stethoscope to listen to her lungs. Turning his head away in case she opened her eyes, Carlisle frowned, disheartened by what he heard. As though she knew his findings, Elizabeth did open her eyes and look pointedly at Carlisle.

"When you see him, will you make sure he is well? Please? I know you must be horrendously busy, but, well, I cannot stand the thought of him..."

Carlisle knew she struggled with speaking the possibility of a shortened life for her son, so he nodded, ceasing the need for her to continue. "That is what I am here for - preventative care is also part of my occupation." He smiled, placing the back of his hand on her hot forehead.

Elizabeth mumbled to herself, speaking of her son, as she drifted back to sleep. Carlisle was pleased that she was able and hoped in sleep she found some peace.

Less than an hour later, Carlisle began making his way back to Elizabeth, wanting to make sure that her son had returned and was accounted for. As he approached, he noticed the young man from a few days prior, glancing about as though he were looking for someone. He stilled and his eyes widened as he saw Carlisle. Although the doctor was used to getting a fearful reaction sometimes, it bothered him coming from the lad.

The two spoke briefly, Carlisle coming to find out that he was the son the mother had been seeking. From his brief examination of Edward he realized easily that he was also ill, hating that he had been right when he predicted the young man's health could not withstand the influenza when those close to him were affected so thoroughly. Carlisle was glad Edward did not argue when he was asked to rest. The doctor did find himself wanting to chastise the young man when he so adamantly expressed that he would not be separated from his parents even if it meant his health. He let it go without argument, however, remembering the promise he had made to Edward's mother that he would try to look after him; it would only be a small amount of trouble to make sure a cot was placed with the older Masen's.

Trying his best to make sure the entire family was comfortable, Carlisle found himself gravitating towards the three Masen's more so than the rest of his patients. He understood how unfair it was, how much he was needed elsewhere, but could not bring himself to divide his attention evenly amongst those that he cared for. When Edward seemed to degrade faster than his mother, Carlisle tried not to worry over him; Elizabeth did that enough. But it was as though Carlisle felt he could chase the sickness away with his presence, that the strength of his hands could erase the pained furrows on Edward's brow as he slept. Maybe it was because Carlisle was once supposed to have been a part of a family of three, or maybe it was because Carlisle once had a mother that loved him unconditionally - a mother that gave her life for him - but he could not stop the fear of loss from creeping in, even though the boy was not his to lose.

~oOo~

The night that Edward and Elizabeth Masen died would be etched into Carlisle's memory; whether that be blessing or curse, he would never be able to decide.

Elizabeth might have been able to survive, but she insisted on trying to care for her ill son, consistently foregoing her own well-being to see to his comfort. It had helped little, and Carlisle often reminded her of this on his rounds. She was stubborn, but Carlisle admired her insistence and evident commitment to her family.

The father had died earlier in the evening, before Carlisle's shift had started. The sun had set and the hospital was growing dark when he went to check on the two surviving Masen's. Carlisle was relieved somewhat when he saw that Mr. Masen's body had already been transported to the morgue. He found Elizabeth weeping softly, standing over Edward in the same position Carlisle frequently saw her in.

Walking towards her, Elizabeth reached her hand out to Carlisle. He readily took it, noticing her fever was out of control. When she looked at him, Carlisle knew as well as she that she would not be surviving the night.

"Come lie down," Carlisle whispered, and, for once, Elizabeth shuffled to her cot in acquiescence. As she lay down, Carlisle struggled to clear his expression of the worry he felt. The air passing through her was not enough to sustain her life; if she did not smother by morning, the fever would certainly finish her. Either way, she was done.

"Dr. Cullen," she rasped, holding Carlisle in place. "You _must _save him!"

Carlisle bit his lip, wishing he could promise Elizabeth that he could save Edward. "I will do everything in my power." Once the words were spoken, he realized there was _something _in his power he was unsure he was willing to try.

"You _must," _she insisted, her eyes wild, leaving Carlisle with the feeling she could see straight inside of him. He wondered briefly if she could see his soul. "You must do everything in _your _power." She nodded, eyes going impossibly wider.

Carlisle shook his head, the threat of exposure looming over him. "You have no way to know what you ask of me," he whispered. Elizabeth nodded again.

"What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward. I cannot bear the thought of losing him, too."

Elizabeth did not know what she asked of him, did she? How could she possibly be aware of what was in Carlisle's power? Carlisle was unsettled by her; she seemed to see more of him than any other ever had. He felt split open, laid bare, and read as easily as a book. Above all, he was absolutely horrified that he was considering fulfilling her request.

Moaning, Edward turned his head toward Carlisle and Elizabeth, no doubt stirred by the frantic sound of his mother's voice. Carlisle took a moment to look at him fully. It seemed as though he could see Edward's life ebbing away, his heavy eyelids hiding the vibrance of his green eyes. The roundness of his face had given way to sunken cheeks so swiftly, and a shadow hung perpetually over his beautiful face. Edward grimaced and his face twitched; Carlisle hoped whatever dream Edward was having was soothing, because it would be his last - one way or another.

When he looked back at Elizabeth, she still stared at him unfailingly, awaiting an acknowledgement that her dying request would be acted upon. Carlisle had promised to use what he had become to save lives, to heal. So many times, he had considered what he could do - what was within his power - when he could not heal by human means. Edward would follow his mother in death that very night; Carlisle was certain.

He could save Edward and no longer be alone. The thought was thrilling, yet choosing immortality for someone else, committing them to eternity, was a heady thing. Carlisle reasoned with himself that he would not be taking a life, but giving one beyond what he had ever done before.

"Please?" Elizabeth begged a final time, knowing Carlisle's internal conflict.

Without speaking, Carlisle gave her the slightest nod. He had made his decision.

Elizabeth died within the hour, her face, even in death, seeming agitated and on edge. Carlisle hoped that by completing her request she would find peace, never regretting what she had asked of him even when she discovered the full repercussions behind it.

Knowing that getting Edward out of the hospital would be easy, Carlisle covered both he and Elizabeth in their bedsheets. He placed them both on the same gurney, feeling guilty about having Edward - still living - pressed against the corpse of his mother. He shook himself of the feeling, realizing Edward would be unaware. Carlisle did not want to waste the time transporting them separately.

Once he arrived in the morgue, Carlisle deposited Elizabeth's body, quietly apologizing for his failure to save her as he unceremoniously said a short prayer.

There was an oversized back door located adjacent to the morgue for transporting bodies; Carlisle opened it a small amount, listening to make sure no one would witness him leaving. By that time, the night was black as pitch, a new moon graciously offering low light for the journey back to his house.

Carlisle picked up Edward's limp form and cradled him against his chest, one arm under his knees, the other one around his shoulders. Before he exited, Carlisle took one last look around, knowing that the whim he was acting on would prevent him from coming back to that place, prevent him from practicing medicine for an unknown amount of time; Edward would need his full attention, and Carlisle would give that to him.

Silently, he left the morgue, closing the door behind him with his foot. He could scarcely believe he was actually leaving. Carlisle began running.

As he ran, Carlisle felt Edward's weak hands curl into fists around the cloth of his shift, his face turning towards Carlisle's shoulder, attempting to shield himself from the wind. To Carlisle, Edward was as easy to carry as one of his medical books, but the heat that radiated off of him pushed Carlisle to run faster. If he did not hurry, it would not matter if he had the strength to follow through with his decision.

The consequences of what he was doing swirled through Carlisle's busy mind. By turning that boy, Carlisle was making a commitment to care for him, watch over him, teach him how to make the most of forever. When he had stayed a few decades with the Volturi, Carlisle had seen few newborns, but knew from stories how volatile they were. Carlisle remembered how hard it was to control himself when he was born into his second life, and, apparently, the amount of control he exhibited was a unique case. A newly created vampire was the worst kind of animal, ruled - body and mind - by the want for blood, all over-riding senses of morality and self were easily flung to the wayside in favor of violence and the lust to drink.

Carlisle fretted that he would not be able to control him.

And Carlisle remembered the pain. The pain of transformation was as fresh in his mind as the scent of the boy he carried; the heat that poured from the boy would be considered a soothing, balmy relief compared to the fire that Carlisle would put in his veins.

He made the decision that as soon as Edward awakened, they would leave. Although Carlisle's home in Chicago was several miles away from humans - far enough away to allow Edward to scream when the pain began - it was not remote enough to keep a feral vampire with exceptional strength and speed from easily being tempted and lured by the scent of humans.

Looking down at the bundle he carried, Carlisle vowed that he would never be sorry for what he was about to do. The thought of Edward, devoid of life, snuffed out before he could share his light, was unbearable. There was something about him - his quiet will, his loyalty, the care with which he had handled his mother, the bright outlook he held for himself - that appealed to Carlisle. Something in Edward had reached out to Carlisle, and the more he thought about it, the firmer his conviction became to save him. What Carlisle would do was right. If it was not, God would forgive him.

Carlisle was grateful he encountered no problems as he carried Edward, for once thankful that fear of disease kept people hidden in their homes. All too soon, he had arrived to his house, the point of no return steadily approaching.

His home sparsely furnished, Carlisle decided the best place to put Edward would be in his study. Although he did not have a bed, Carlisle had a sofa he presumed would be comfortable to a human. He doubted Edward would notice how soft or hard the spot he laid on was, especially once the transformation began. Placing him down as carefully as he could, Carlisle pushed the matted, sweaty hair away from Edward's face, his thumb lingering as it swept across his brow.

When faced with the terrifying reality of what Carlisle had plotted, he hesitated a moment. He had never tasted human blood, but he had seen the effect it could have on others. He held tightly to Edward's hand and placed his nose to the crook of Edward's neck and inhaled, nuzzling his nose against his pulse point as each beat forced out the scent of blood. Even ill and on the edge of his life, Edward's natural scent of raw sugar caused Carlisle's mouth to flood with venom, and he had to swallow it down.

Carlisle's control had been tested countless times. His hands had been covered in blood before; he listened to countless hearts as they pushed blood through numerous sets of veins, and he had resisted. Never had it been so important that he remain himself as it did at that moment; he felt his soul depended on it.

Edward groaned and tried to inhale, his eyes fluttering open for less than a second. Carlisle loathed that the living green of Edward's eyes would be overrun by scarlet, but appreciated seeing a flash of them a final time.

Taking another deep breath and holding it, Carlisle opened his mouth against Edward's throat, placing his teeth over his pulse. Edward's heart beat at a slow yet steady rhythm, vibrating Carlisle's lips and tongue, the last sounds of the young man's life composing a death march.

Pausing when lust for Edward's blood overtook him, Carlisle moaned, his throat burning, a thousand demonic voices begging him to bite, to drink, to take - not give. He closed his eyes, letting the venom pool in his mouth, thinking that the more venom he could push into Edward's system, the faster his transition would be. He was unsure if it would hurt more.

"Help me," Carlisle whispered, sending a prayer into the heavens. The strength to let Edward live could not solely come from him.

Carlisle listened to a final, ragged inhale from Edward and, in the silence that followed, sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of Edward's throat.

_God_, Carlisle thought, as the most ambrosial flavor enveloped his mouth. Nothing could have ever been wrong in his life and nothing could go wrong again as long as he had that sweet, life-giving flavor filling his mouth and easing the constant ache he had endured for over two hundred and fifty years. How had he survived without it? How was he so stupid to ignore what he was, what he had been created to do?

Carlisle wanted more, and he greedily took in and swallowed several mouthfuls. Never had he felt so strong; he was alive and perfect and brilliant and eternal. He was joy and completion and stamina. Carlisle felt, in those moments as he drank, he was _everything._

_God_, he thought again, his memories flashing back to the first blood he drank. A herd of deer passed by the cave he had hidden himself in and he had attacked in a crazed, blood-thirsty haze. Was that all he was? A wicked being who could not control himself? _No_, he reminded himself. _No, but just one more pull, simply one more swallow._

Reasoning with himself, he thought of Edward, oblivious, helpless to defend himself. His mother had trusted Carlisle, leaving the care of her greatest treasure to him. She had believed he could help, even though she knew there was something _off _about him - _because _there was something _off _about him.

_Stop. Stop. Now._

In one of the hardest movements Carlisle would ever make, he relinquished his hold on Edward and retreated to the corner of his study, still wanting more and more and more.

Concentrating on the sound of his breathing, he fought himself, shaming himself into remaining where he was. He beat the monster, but still argued with him as he regained control.

He worried that he had taken too much, that he had killed Edward and only hurried him along into the after-life instead of saving him. Carlisle was afraid to look. Hiding his face in his hands, he found out he had done it right when Edward started screaming.


	5. Agony In This Fire

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Author's note: Thanks again to my beta, ms. ambrosia. She really puts up with more than comes with being a beta. She has an awesome new story called _Proxy _that everyone should be reading. It's in my favorites! On with the chapter.**

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**_"I look at my… _son_. His strength, his goodness, the brightness that shines out of him—and it only fuels that hope, that faith, more than ever. How could there not be more for one such as Edward?" _Carlisle, New Moon, Chapter 2 - Stitches

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Hell could not compare to the fire that burned Edward. Nothing he could have imagined before would ever be hot enough to describe the conflagration that tore through his body, scorching him, torturing him. The heat was in every inch of him, making him aware of bits of flesh that he had paid no mind to previously. No part of him was given a reprieve as the unending heat lit him, yet he did not turn to ash; the fire that burned him was not that kind.

When he had first experienced the slight pain in his throat as something tore into him, he had been confused by the flashes he saw, but had still been convinced he was living and dreaming. As the pain began to envelope him, he was certain he had died and was being punished - no one could live through that kind of torture. That was until the wicked flames that licked his skin grew so unbearable, he knew he must still be in his body; not even Lucifer could comprehend something as torturous as the ache that had been unleashed upon him.

The first day, Edward could hear nothing but his own screams; they echoed through his head and reverberated against his skull before traveling through his body, feeding the fire. He thought of the sunburn he had received when he was nine - the price he had to pay for playing in the warm sun for far too long. Complaining to his mother, she had chided him, reminding him that she had warned him. The memory of that day faded even as he thought of it, and he was angry at himself for ever thinking _that_ was pain.

Edward shouted and cursed; he cursed at God for not letting him die, shouted at his mother for giving birth to him, placed blame on his father for siring him. Edward wanted to know why he was aching and being eaten alive by pain so tangible it seemed as though it were a living thing. He wanted someone to direct his ire towards, but knew not who to blame. He was convinced, however, that the pain _would_ end at some point and he would discover who put him through it; that person would seek penance for what he had done. Edward would make him.

Although Edward had no idea how long he had been burning, as the second day dawned he had grown convinced that it would never stop. As far as he knew, he had been burning forever and could not recall a time when he had been cool. His screams had died down to grunts and moans, his voice leaving him after so much strain.

Trying to think of anything and everything with a frosty temperature, he thought of the snow in winter, a tub full of ice, the metal of the lamp post on a fall evening.

Edward imagined himself naked in the snow, rolling from his back to his stomach, burying his head in a drift. Within the same second he had conjured a cold imagine, the snow around his body melted away; the sun came out and shone down on him with such brightness and heat that he could not open his eyes and he felt his skin falling from his bones, liquefying with the snow.

He found it in himself to scream again.

Then he attempted to see himself in that tub full of ice, but that soon turned to boiling water, cooking Edward as he swore he could smell his flesh being boiled, scalded and cooked like the chicken he used to enjoy eating. And when he made one last attempt to focus on soothing thoughts, he saw himself pressing his face against the cool metal of the lamp post, only to find it hot as an iron, the over-heated metal sticking to his cheeks. Nothing helped. _Absolutely nothing. _ So he screamed and screamed, his voice seeming to grow stronger with each exclamation, every curse.

On the third day, Edward had grown so weary of the pain that he simply cried - cried from frustration and wear, exhaustion and loss. He was certain he would never speak to another person again, positive that the rest of the time he was made to exist in some form he would burn. Sanity leaving him, he clawed at his skin, feeling some satisfaction when he felt the sting of his nails as they ate into his flesh. He dug at his face, his chest, his thighs, convincing himself that the pain was only on the outside, and if he could could escape the prison of his flesh then he could escape the pain. Strong, cool hands grabbed his and held them down, and Edward shouted in surprise and anger. Who had stood idly by while he was put through a fire that burned with a fury hotter than the sun? What kind of monster would try to stop him from tearing out of the thing that caused him such misery?

"Please, stop," he heard a male voice say, a voice familiar yet not.

Edward replied by groaning then flinging out a string of words full of hate. The sounds he made seemed odd even to his own ears.

"I promise that this will be over soon," the man said. _Please let it be over soon_, Edward heard, the tone of the voice sounding the same yet different.

Edward attempted to open his eyes, but could not; they were already burning and he did not want the flames on his body to ruin them further.

"Go to Hell," Edward said, laughing for a fraction of a second before it caused the pain to flare in his ribs, his thighs, and the backs of his knees.

Beginning to struggle against the hands that held him, Edward wanted to run. If he could not claw the fire off, perhaps he could outrun it. If that man would just let him up, he could flee the place that was so full of heat, pain, and the source of his unending anguish. What kind of fire burned for so long and so hot?

"Let me go." Edward tried to growl, but it came out as a pathetic whimper.

"I cannot," the man replied.

Edward felt something heavy and cold stretching across his body, easing the ache but only minutely.

Then, the man gave Edward his name, told him what was happening, what he was becoming.

Edward raged.

Using words he never thought would come from his mouth, Edward refuted Dr. Cullen. He would not believe it, could not believe it. Why was the doctor lying to him? Why was he not helping him? He was not to become something of nightmares; his body was already going _through_ a nightmare that had previously been beyond his comprehension.

By the time the third day was done, Edward had worn himself out fighting, finally holding still and allowing himself the small reprieve he got from the cool man that held him pinned.

When Edward thought it could get no worse, it did, a slight sting surfacing on his wrists. The burning intensified; the fire had replaced the blood in his veins and was sucking out everything that he once was and making him something else entirely. Edward was unable to think of a word to describe the completely incinerated, charred, aching, turbulent feeling in his limbs, his face, his fingers and toes. His muscles were tight, coiled like a spring; he felt them twitching, the sensation like thousands of insects covered his flesh, crawling and biting and leaving a trail of venom in their wake.

Beating erratically in his chest, Edward's heart was itching to exit his dying body, the thumps unnatural. Edward began writhing, arching his back, once again attempting to flee what was happening in the housing of his flesh and bone. Dr Cullen continued to keep him pinned, Edward finding his strength growing as his captor struggled to keep him in place.

Without warning, Edward's heart started to pound so rapidly that it throbbed in his ears, causing an ache in his head. Thinking of his bicycle, Edward remembered the sound of the playing cards he had pinned in the wheels, the sounds of cards hitting metal growing faster and faster as he pushed his legs to pump harder. His screaming began anew as his heart tried to jump from his chest, escape out his throat, pulse against his ribcage; it strained and struggled, trying to fight, trying to _live. _

Edward could not breathe, the distant memory of the influenza infecting his lungs and stealing his breath seemed so long before that it could never compare to the suffocation he was experiencing. Edward gasped and tried to express how he felt through another shout, but it came out as a strangled, low sound, tapering off - no more ferocious than the mewling of a kitten.

Edward was afraid.

The doctor holding him down tried to calm Edward, told him more lies of how he would feel better soon, how he would be better than he ever had. Edward dismissed what he said, knowing each of the things he relayed were lies no matter how soothing the words were.

Taking a final lung full of air, Edward's heart abruptly stopped. It sputtered once, a dying engine. A final time it weakly pushed before a still quiet settled over the room, and Edward opened his eyes.

Edward did not know where he was and did not recognize the man that hovered over him. Allowing his eyes to adjust, he realized he could count the lashes that surrounded the man's eyelids; he could see the differences in textures on the flesh of his forehead to that of his cheeks, his chin. The curious eyes that met his were yellow - that sparked something. Looking at them, though, he realized they were not yellow: they were gold, much too bright for such a simple description as 'yellow.'

Realizing he had not breathed in several moments, Edward inhaled through his nose, the scent of things he could not name filling his nostrils. He knew he smelled sweat and cotton, wood and glue.

The man that stared at him was frightening Edward, although he was unsure why; he knew he should know the reason, but was having difficulty recalling it. He soon realized that he could recall _nothing_ outside of the pain he had suffered, although that had abruptly ended.

The longer the silence filled the room, the more uncomfortable Edward became. Aware that his chest was unreasonably still, and his mind was unreasonably blank, Edward began feeling the need to flee, but did not know where to go.

_I have never seen one like him_, Edward heard, although the man in front of him had not moved his lips. Edward frantically darted his head back and forth, looking for the source of the voice, his expression panicked.

"Edward?" the man said. Edward knew the voice.

"Who else is here?" Edward asked, still searching for the sound of the voice he had heard.

_What is he talking about? _Edward heard, the voice the same as the man in front of him, although he still did not move his mouth when Edward heard the words.

Turning towards the man, Edward furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side.

_Is he insane?_ the voice spoke again, startling Edward.

"I am _not_ insane," he replied, leaping from the sofa, crumbling the arm and denting the wall he threw himself against. The sounds of the destruction he had caused with a mere shift of his position caused even more fright to blossom in Edward. Once again, he realized he had not been breathing and inhaled, noticing the scent of the man in front of him had changed.

"Why would you say that?" the man said, holding both of his hands out, palms facing Edward.

Edward knew somehow that the man was just as afraid as he was.

"You said, 'Is he insane?' and I am fairly certain that I am not." When Edward protested and defended his sanity, he realized he very well could be insane. Instead of his voice sounding upset, it sounded like warm up chords played on the bass line of a piano - a somewhat ominous timbre, but beautiful all the same. He was certain he had not sounded that way before.

And he was strong; Edward could feel it. He understood that he had been through something - something terrible - and should be exhausted. Trying harder to remember, Edward recalled struggling for breath. He had struggled for breath and then he had been lit on fire.

_The fire,_ Edward thought. He could still feel it in his throat; it felt as though he had swallowed nails or gargled with sand. It burned worse than the time he had taken a drink of his father's whiskey when no one was looking.

His father. Edward knew he had had a father. Where was he?

"Where is my father?" Edward asked. _I should know that. I know I know that._

The expression on the man's face was grim, lips in a straight line. Edward could not stop staring at the indentation below the man's nose above his perfect Cupid's bow lips. The shape of it was amazingly symmetrical; Edward felt he could measure it with his eyes.

_Poor boy, what should I tell him first?_

"Tell me everything!" Edward exclaimed, eyes still perusing the man's lips. It was the strangest feeling for him. He was angry and curious in the same moment, finding he could concentrate fully on both emotions.

"Did you...hear me?" the man asked, the confusion on his face growing and his eyebrows pulled together. The movement caused Edward to shift his eyes from the man's lips to his forehead, and he counted each of the creases he saw there.

"Yes, of course I heard you," Edward said, his voice that time sounding more like a cello to his ears. Hearing a noise at the far side of the room, Edward's eyes left the man in front of him and searched out the scurrying he heard in the wall. He heard a small fluttering sound, frenzied and fast. Whatever was in the wall was fearful for its life, Edward knew; he heard it, smelled it. Wanting to be on the side of the room where the small creature was, Edward found himself there before even realizing he had moved. Before he could track the creature, however, he grew distracted by the grains in the wood of the baseboards.

"Edward."

"Yes?" Not wasting the time to look back at the man, Edward was reaching out to touch the baseboards, the roughness of them feeling so foreign to his fingers. Once again, he was certain the texture had been different before.

_Before. Before. Before what?_

The scuttling sound in the wall presented itself again, and Edward could hear blood rushing through the minuscule veins and his mouth watered. The scent of the creature filled his head and it did not smell wonderful, but he knew it was so close to something that he _really_ wanted. Edward swallowed, but the aching, parched sensation in his throat only intensified. He tried to swallow again, but there was too much liquid in his mouth and it dribbled down his chin. Normally he would have been embarrassed by his apparent lack of control over his body, but there was simply too much happening to care.

With a start, Edward understood there was something very, very wrong with him.

"What am I? Who are you? What did you do to me?" he asked, ripping his gaze away from the fascinating ink stain he had found.

The man sighed, the forceful exhale sending an earthy scent that Edward could only describe as Autumn in his direction. "I had hoped you would remember immediately," the man commented, grimacing as he scrutinized Edward and looked away. _I had hoped not to hurt him again. His eyes are so red..._

"Hurt me how? What do you mean about my eyes?"

"Are you...reading my mind?"

"Who are you?" Edward asked again.

"I am Dr. Carlisle Cullen. I was your physician."

Upon hearing the man's name, Edward remembered him. He remembered the fear he felt, the strangeness that the doctor exuded, the unease he had felt around him. Edward understood why; the good doctor had turned him into a monster - a monster like the doctor. Comprehension dawning on his features, Edward remembered that his parents were dead. The remembrance of the loss he suffered overwhelmed him and he felt stabbed in the gut. The complete isolation and abandonment threatened to push him to his knees, until the ache in his throat flared again. Edward was disgusted, because he knew he wanted blood, the need for it driving any other sorrows from his mind.

Dr. Cullen took a step in his direction, and Edward took on a defensive stance, the anger he had felt flaring up again.

"Why?"

_Because I was lonely. Because you were dying. Because your mother asked me._

That time, Edward _knew _the doctor had not spoken aloud. "Why can I hear inside your head? What is _wrong _with me? You have done something wrong...more wrong than it already was."

_This is odd. Some of the Volturi have extra senses. Aro always stated that there were some humans born to be vampires, yet I never believed him. But he is remarkable...handsome, gifted..._

"Stop! Get out of my head. I hear you. I _hear _you."

_How am I not to think? What can I do? This must be so horrible for him..._

"_Stop!" _Edward exclaimed a final time before retreating to the corner, curling into himself and digging his fingers into his scalp.

Who were the Volturi? Who was Aro? Why would his mother ask for him to be a monster? Was he glad to be alive? Would he rather be dead?

Dr. Cullen was busy quoting a verse of The Bible in his head, attempting to block Edward; he appreciated the attempt.

"Dr. Cullen?" Edward asked, his face still firmly between his knees.

"Call me Carlisle, Edward," he replied, Edward finally allowing him within a close enough proximity so that he could lay his hand on Edward's shoulder. That was odd to Edward, because his hand had been so cold before, but that time it was warm.

"Carlisle?" His voice was small and sounded young, like the light strum of a harp.

"Yes, Edward?"

"My throat hurts. Can I have something to drink?" He lifted his head and stared at Carlisle, the vibrant red of his eyes reflected in Carlisle's thoughts. Edward was horrified.

"I am sorry," Carlisle said, realizing his errant thought troubled Edward as he lowered his face to his knees again. "We must leave. I can show you how to hunt on the way out of this place."

"Hunt?"

"You want the red gone from your eyes? You drink from animals. One day, your eyes will be like mine."

"I _want _to know what is going on, what will happen to me now. I have so many questions-"

"And I promise to answer them all, but we must leave, and you must hunt."

Carlisle held out his hand to Edward; he took it tentatively, feeling confused, fearful, angry, displaced, but took a modicum of comfort from the warmth of the palm that held his. After all, he had no one else to take it from.


	6. Perplexed, But Not In Despair

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to ms-ambrosia for the beta stuff! She completes me like cheese does tortilla chips. If it weren't for her, I'd be like a...naked tortilla chip. Oh, how my eloquence astounds me.**

**Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! **

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**_But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We will always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. _The Bible, 2 Corinthians 4:7-10

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Attempting to keep himself devoid of thought for his new ward's comfort, Carlisle emptied his safe of all its contents. He had assets above what the normal human would possess, and he did not think twice about the home he would leave behind.

Edward followed Carlisle's actions with a cautious quiet, going as far as to trail behind him as he went from room to room, gathering a few possessions that he wanted to take with him. Carlisle was relieved that the newborn had ceased his attempts to flee; one of his biggest fears was that he would be unable to keep Edward with him. If he did run, Carlisle knew it would be nearly impossible to catch him.

Carlisle tried not to think of how disconcerting it was when Edward's curious ruby eyes flitted about the room. When Carlisle looked at him, the boy would not return his gaze, although he felt his heated stare when he turned his back. It was probably not the best idea to show his back to one so new, but Carlisle wanted Edward to feel that he trusted him somewhat.

Edward must have had a plethora of questions, but was managing to keep them in; whether his silence be from fear or anger, Carlisle did not know and would blame him for neither. There would be plenty of time for answering his inquiries later, and after all the sound the young man had exuded over the days prior, Carlisle was grateful for the silence.

As Edward had screamed, Carlisle questioned himself. The words and sounds that shot from Edward's mouth shook him. Never had he witnessed such a range of emotions spanning from anger and hate to desolation and hopelessness. But Carlisle remembered that what he had done was for good, that by making Edward immortal he would give the boy a chance beyond what his short human life would have provided. So although Edward's cries of desperation broke Carlisle's heart, he knew it was only temporary.

When Edward's transformation had gone on for a full three days with no signs of halting, Carlisle had grown worried - worried that he had done something wrong, worried that the battle against the creature within had been for naught. That was when Carlisle had bitten Edward again, that time on the wrists. He found it much easier to resist the allure of Edward's blood the second time, the drops that touched his tongue diluted by venom.

And when Edward's heart thrummed in his chest - staccato beats like a timpani - Carlisle had never been so grateful that the organ was about to give up and give out.

Carlisle continued to glance over his shoulder as he gathered a few things, including some clothing for Edward. He did not give Edward anything to change into at that moment, even though he needed it, understanding that the already ruined clothing Edward wore would soon be further destroyed when he took the young man hunting.

Glancing once again over his shoulder, Carlisle witnessed Edward sniffing the droplets of blood that had stained the shirt he wore. Carlisle had attempted to keep the blood he spilled to a minimum, yet some could not be helped. He attempted to keep his thoughts neutral as he watched Edward try to suck the blood from his shirt collar, tiny moans of want escaping his throat as he got a taste of what his body craved. There was not enough there for the boy to be anywhere near satisfied.

Edward finally met Carlisle's gaze and clutched at his throat, swallowing over and over, bits of shredded cloth in his hands, his teeth. Carlisle closed his pack, unable to hide the look of pity on his features or the echo of it in his thoughts.

"You understand now what you are? What it is that you want?" Carlisle asked, his voice calm and even.

Edward's eyes darted from Carlisle to the cloth in his hands, traveling up his arms. Looking back at Carlisle again, he answered by nodding his head.

"We may go now," Carlisle stated, grabbing the pack and throwing it over his shoulder.

Carlisle was careful to keep his movements human as they exited the house; Edward was skittish enough upon waking. As they stepped out into the night, Carlisle could not help but smile as he watched Edward take everything in, no doubt in awe of the new sounds and colors he encountered in the darkness. He himself remembered how overwhelming it was being able to hear everything from the smallest insect to the largest mammals as they came alive at night. There was even a time, as he had laid his ear against the warm earth, that he had sworn he had heard buried roots growing and stretching.

"Everything is...so different," Edward murmured, his attention scattered as he tried to track each of the sounds he encountered.

"Yes, everything is different," Carlisle answered. "I will show you how to hunt now, but for time's sake, we need to run."

Still focusing elsewhere, Edward's answer was absentminded. "I can run."

"Edward," Carlisle started, hoping the sound of his name would cause the boy to focus. It did not. "Edward, I need you to look at me for a moment. What I have to tell you is very important." He walked over and placed a hand on Edward's shoulder. Edward looked at the hand for several seconds.

"Yes?"

"Now that you are...different, you will be able to run very fast, much faster than I. I need you to understand that, although you may want to, you must stay with me," Carlisle relayed, locking his eyes with Edward's, hoping the newborn could comprehend what he was saying.

"Why?" Edward asked, his eyes beginning to amble over Carlisle's shoulder.

Carlisle squeezed Edward where he held him, garnering his attention once more.. "You understand what we are?" Edward nodded. "Do you want to be a monster? To kill? To slaughter a person who is someone's mother or father or child?" Edward paused before speaking. Understanding how strong the lure of human blood was, especially after having had a taste, Carlisle allowed Edward to mull over the statement he had made. Although Carlisle had given Edward immortality and longed to have a companion, he would not force his views, only stress them.

Finally, Edward shook his head.

"Then you must stay with me. The state that you are in right now is volatile. I am unsure that I could stop you if you caught the scent of human blood, and I know very well you could not stop yourself. Do you understand? We must be cautious."

Edward's fright seemed to have increased. "I do not want to harm people," he said, focusing on his bare feet. "But, my throat _hurts_, and I know it is because I want...I _want_..."

"Blood," Carlisle finished. Edward lifted his head. "And you will have blood. Did you not eat meat in your former life? You lived on the flesh of animals, and now you will live off of their blood."

Swallowing as he had done repeatedly since waking, Edward appeared to be averse to the idea. Carlisle's eyes traveled to the shredded collar of Edward's shirt as though confirming that, although he was hesitant, Edward was capable of consuming blood. Edward also looked at the same spot and nodded.

"Show me," he said, the sound of his voice stronger than it had been previously.

"We will run," Carlisle replied. "Stay with me."

~oOo~

Together, they ran several miles from Carlisle's former home; Edward, for the most part, kept to Carlisle's wishes. There were a few times he would begin to stray or slow down, entranced by the humming of cicadas or enthralled by the consistency of tree bark.

Carlisle caught the scent of a pack of coyotes and thanked God for his luck. Coyotes could be found from time to time, but it was a rarity, and he knew that the blood of a carnivore would be more satisfying for Edward. He could tell that Edward was more than aware of their presence as well, instinctively lowering into a crouch, a soft growl unfurling from his chest.

"Keep very still and quiet, Edward," Carlisle warned, inching his way closer to the boy.

Edward snapped his head towards Carlisle and bared his teeth; Carlisle backed away again.

"If you frighten them, they will scatter before you can catch more than one." He became aware that the warning was useless when Edward bolted, heavy footfalls and snapped branches allowing Carlisle to follow.

As Carlisle had predicted, the pack scattered in different directions, but Edward had already grabbed one. Carlisle reached Edward in time to see the creature scrambling against him as it tried to flee, heard each of its bones cracking against Edward's marble flesh and iron-fisted hands. The poor thing whined and thrashed until it was silenced when Edward barbarically ripped out its throat with his teeth, dark red blood spurting over his face and flowing over his throat. It was sloppy and animalistic, the grunts and slurps emanating from Edward echoing through the trees.

Edward seemed to grow less and less human as Carlisle watched him, and even when the animal was completely drained, Edward still gnawed and sucked at its syphoned body, unable to comprehend that it was finished when the scent of blood still lingered so heavily in the air. He was finally persuaded to abandon the emptied carcass when he heard one of the other coyotes begin to howl. Before Carlisle could move, Edward was gone again.

Following him, Carlisle began to worry. How was he suited to take care of one so completely out of control? How was he, someone who had survived on his own with only himself to look after, to keep a feral vampire contained? Before he could allow himself to question any further, he asked for the strength to care for Edward, asked for the solution to the problem to present itself. Resolving himself that he would handle the situation that he had wanted and brought upon himself, Carlisle pushed himself to run faster. The woods were dense, but at the speed which Edward ran, Carlisle feared he might break through.

Once again, luck allowed Edward to catch another animal - a large bobcat. Carlisle found him hunched over its lifeless body, the creature already drained. Carlisle approached Edward, but kept several feet between them and announced his presence.

"Edward."

The only answer he received was a snarl as Edward continued to rip into the animal, the sound muffled by its matted fur.

Carlisle could not watch him any longer, so _inhuman. _Keeping ties with humanity was what helped Carlisle hold onto his soul. Edward needed to understand that. Although he was a newborn and Carlisle would show him leniency, he needed to know how important it was to practice control.

_Enough! _Carlisle thought.

Edward dropped the cooling carcass and backed away, the cloud of bloodlust lifting. He looked at his hands, his arms, his chest, his legs, all covered in fur and congealing blood. He began wiping his hands on his already blood soaked clothing as though he could get them clean, only to realize the blood from his clothing only served to soil them further.

"Why?" he asked again, his distress causing his voice to crack. Carlisle knew Edward was not asking about why he stopped him.

"Is the burn in your throat less?" Carlisle inquired, ignoring the true meaning behind Edward's question.

Edward brushed his fingers against his throat again. "A small amount."

Carlisle nodded, offering his hand to help Edward to his feet. Edward looked at his own hand and then to Carlisle's.

_I do not mind getting my hands dirty, Edward, _Carlisle thought. Edward shook his head a bit and took the offered hand, although Carlisle knew he did not need it. Their hands remained clasped even as Edward stood.

"Why were your hands so cold before?" Edward asked.

Edward had been perplexed long enough, his head full of questions and not nearly enough answers yet provided. Deciding it was time to explain, Carlisle replied, "Let us walk, and I promise to answer your queries as we go."

~oOo~

"Why do you do it?" Edward asked, one of the many questions he had voiced as he and Carlisle traveled.

"Why do I do what, exactly?"

"Why do you not only refrain from drinking human blood, but also work so hard to take care of people? Why use your time healing the masses that you can never truly be a part of?"

Carlisle pondered the question, Edward no doubt plucking the thoughts straight from his brain as he formulated them. Many times, Edward had inadvertently responded to Carlisle's thoughts instead of waiting for him to speak them aloud. It was alarming not to have privacy even in his own head, but Carlisle remained patient, knowing that Edward's ability would take some getting used to for both of them.

"Because I was human and part of me is human yet. I want to save my soul, and how could I ever do that if I killed people...if I did not use all my God-given abilities to their fullest extent?"

"You believe your soul still has a chance at being saved and that monsters are still granted admittance to Heaven?" Edward asked, his features incredulous. Carlisle stopped moving.

"Yes, I do. We still have free-will, Edward. God, even now, has a plan for us. Maybe we are the way we are so that we can better serve. Do humans not sin? Do they not murder, thieve and lie? They are still given the chance at redemption. Why not us?"

"But you say that humans can be redeemed even though they sin, so why not take what your body wants and ask forgiveness later?"

"Asking for forgiveness means you have no intentions of committing that sin again, Edward. We are already at a disadvantage. Why bury yourself any deeper in monstrosity? By holding onto our humanity, we hold onto our souls."

"You are completely sincere," Edward said, eyes narrowing as he - no doubt - scoured Carlisle's brain. "I cannot say that I agree with you."

"Edward-"

"I mean that I might not agree with your ideas, not that I do not agree with your practices. We are immortal, yes?" Edward began moving again, Carlisle by his side.

"For the most part."

"If we are given forever, how would we also be given an afterlife?"

"We can still be destroyed, Edward. It is difficult, yes." Carlisle hesitated a moment before continuing, memories flashing through his head of The Volturi, of the high-pitched sound of immortal flesh being torn, a scream silenced by decapitation. He could still smell the sickly sweet aroma of the body parts as they turned to embers, finally ash.

Edward cringed and Carlisle shook his head before continuing. "And we still suffer here. In the afterlife, there is no suffering."

"Unless you go to Hell," Edward stated, eyebrows knitting together. "Am I in Hell? It certainly felt like I was being burned. You are handsome enough to have been a seraphim. Were you cast out of Heaven? Trying to work your way back?"

"No," Carlisle said, hampering a laugh, before he continued. "I know how difficult this must be for you, Edward. When I became what we are, I had no one. I had no idea how long I would be made to feel out of control, no clue what to fear. I had no way of grieving for what had happened to me, grieving for what I had lost. I promise you, the ache you feel does lessen, the sorrow fades, and you will gain control."

Edward scrutinized Carlisle's visage again, moments passing in silence as he stared longer than he had before. "I believe you."

~oOo~

For the most part, Carlisle was impressed by the way Edward was handling things. Although Edward's emotions were still mercurial - going from thanking Carlisle for saving him, to cursing him for bringing him into a damned existence - he had not wandered far. They had had a few starts and stops when Edward began to feel overwrought, a deluge of heightened emotions hindering their travels. The stops were more than compensated for when Edward discovered how swift he was on his new legs, marveling at the new strength in his muscles and pushing them as much as he could get away with.

Carlisle Edward's steady stream of questions continued. Carlisle answered each of the inquiries with insurmountable tolerance, never refusing to answer no matter how personal the request might be. He answered questions on eating habits, sleeping routines, bodily functions, physical characteristics and constraints. He told Edward how old he was, when he was turned, how he was turned, who he had been before he changed, what he had done since the change, how he had met the Volturi, and how he had gone to school to learn to be a physician. He answered questions about vampires he had known with extra senses and how they handled it. Edward asked about the amount of time it would take before he could be around humans, and he asked about his parents. He wanted to know what his mother had said to persuade Carlisle to save him, wanted to know if Carlisle told Edward's mother what he actually was. Carlisle answered him truthfully.

Finally, Edward asked where they were going.

Carlisle had their earlier conversation to thank for reminding him of the location he had in mind. There was a grouping of islands above Wisconsin known as the Apostle Islands. Some were virtually uninhabited; the one Carlisle had in mind, Devils Island, would have two occupants as far as he knew, but it was the most remote. Although he could easily swim away, Carlisle hoped that Edward's desire to refrain from human blood would keep him there. The two men that would be on the island keeping the lighthouse generally left in December anyway; it was late fall already, and Carlisle was certain he could pay them to leave early and not return for a full year. What he could offer them would be much more than they would make manning the light. He and Edward could live in the keeper's house. The wildlife on the island and on the ones surrounding it would keep them sustained; Carlisle could bring Edward his meals if need be.

The two men had stopped moving again, Carlisle sitting against a tree, Edward unable to remain stationary, fidgeting and standing.. They had run through unoccupied areas, keeping far from humans well into the day, and nightfall was only a few hours away.

"Why is it called 'Devils Island'?" Edward inquired, scoffing at the irony in their temporary home's name.

"The Indians that at one time occupied the island thought it to be the home of an evil spirit that one of their great spirits had imprisoned. Therefore the name, Devils Island. There are caves on the island that catch the wind in a way that it sounds like moaning. Many are frightened of it, so it is the perfect place for us."

"How will we get to the island?" Edward asked.

"We swim," Carlisle replied.

"Yes, but how do we get to where we swim from?"

"We keep going on foot."

"That will take ages," Edward replied. Carlisle did not even attempt to halt the laugh that escaped. Edward glared at him.

"We are already almost halfway there," Carlisle said, grinning. It was true; the two had had luck on their side, racing through uninhabited areas with no encounters with humans. One of the advantages of being a well-traveled immortal was knowing how to get around inconspicuously.

"Have we really been going that fast? I am not in the least amount tired."

"Yes," Carlisle answered. "We do need to stop, however. The next part of our journey will be more out in the open. The darkness means less chance of encountering humans."

"Would it really be that difficult to resist? Or are you just worried we might blind someone?" Edward joked, extending his arm to catch some of the slanted sunlight that filtered through the trees.

Carlisle was relieved the boy could jest, although he feared he had yet to understand just how overwhelming his want for blood would become did he encounter a human. "You need to comprehend, Edward, that you absolutely, without a doubt, would not be able to pass by the chance to drink."

"I will take your word for it then. Can we hunt again?" Edward asked, all the talk about drinking certainly reminding him of the ongoing dryness in his throat.

"Keeping you sated is imperative, so, yes. Try not to run away from me this time." Getting to his feet, Carlisle dusted off his trousers while giving Edward a somber glance.

"Right now, staying with you is my priority," Edward replied.

And then Edward smiled, his entire countenance changing with a simple upturn of the lips - a patch of green grass peeking from the melting snow. Realizing it was the first time he had seen the expression on the boy's face, Carlisle's hope for something more out of immortality grew as Edward's lips curled higher.


	7. Filled With All Unrighteousness

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Author's note: Thanks to my beta, ms ambrosia, as always. I appreciate the reviews, alerts, and favorites.**

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Edward was scattered, his thoughts, his emotions tumultuous. He hated what he had become, yet feared death, leaving him somewhere between relieved and disgusted. Was he not death walking?

The doctor, Carlisle, wholeheartedly believed that he had saved Edward from death, but Edward saw things differently. Although he could still walk, talk, breathe, and think, he was not living in the same way he had been. Everything about him was different.

And he wanted blood. _All _he wanted was blood.

The man he followed was good; his thoughts screamed sincerity and steadfast belief in the things he told Edward. It was because of the purity of his thoughts that Edward trusted him; well, trusted him as much as a newborn vampire can trust anyone.

Having thoughts that were not his own appearing in his head was trying; at moments he thought he would go mad, answering a question before Carlisle had even voiced it. Edward envied the patience the doctor exuded, taking everything in stride as though having his mind read was the most natural thing in the world.

After Edward's extensive question and answer session and second hunting trip, the rest of their journey was made under the cover of nightfall. They ran together in silence, Edward only asking more questions after they stopped running when the sun came up. Again, they hunted before continuing, Edward gorging himself so that he felt like an overfilled tick, swearing he felt the blood sloshing around his stomach.

When they started again as it grew dark, Carlisle attempted to fill his thoughts with pleasant things - the lovely sounds in the night, the scent of the leaves, the crispness of the air. Edward did not want to tell him it only caused him to feel more scattered. Already, he felt the need to please the man. The pride that had echoed in his thoughts as Edward had hunted the third time had been bolstering. Although he had drank more than he had on the previous trips, he found it easier to stop, and had not been nearly as messy about it. Carlisle had patted him on the back and smiled. Edward was unsure why it had warmed him so. Perhaps it was because he owed the man his existence; Carlisle had seen fit that Edward should remain existing, and Edward should want to see him pleased.

But as soon as he would have the thought to make Carlisle proud of him, his feelings would shift, and he would miss his mother, his father, the comfort of sleep and waking in a warm bed. Why would Carlisle take him and not his parents? Why was only he suited to save? Edward tried to rationalize. The way Carlisle described it, his father had already been dead, and his mother was on the verge of death when she made her request. Perhaps it would have been too much for the doctor to deal with, looking after two or three monsters. Edward already resented being watched over like a child, and could not see his mother handling it. He knew, however, in the part of him that was still human, that he was indeed as dangerous as Carlisle said, and needed to be kept close.

His new body and new senses were thrilling and frightening, exhilarating and jarring. The need to run, to hunt, to track, was overpowering. At times they would pass through areas and there would be the hint of a scent gliding through the breeze, filling Edward's nostrils and swirling in his head, scorching his throat. When he encountered such an aroma, it was as though his body knew there was something more, something better that it wanted and it beckoned him to leave his keeper, to find what it needed. Edward struggled to keep that part of him silent, but could already feel the lacuna that existed inside himself; it was the rift between the wicked creature he was and the human he wanted to be.

When they reached the point where they needed to swim, Carlisle told Edward they would have to go for many miles without stopping. For a moment, Edward pondered how he would breathe before remembering that that was something he no longer required.

Edward tentatively slid into the water, following Carlisle. As the previous few evenings the night was exceptionally dark, a few stars providing light along with a sliver of the moon. The water was black, a seemingly large, empty hole waiting to swallow him.

Expecting the gentle waves to feel cool against his flesh - it being night time in Fall - Edward was surprised when the water felt warm, another reminder of how alien he had become. He took it in stride, welcoming the temperate liquid as it washed away the grime of their travels. Carlisle vanished below the surface and Edward went after him.

He was in awe of how easily he propelled himself through the water and, although he was sheathed in darkness, Edward could peer through the water and see even the tiniest creatures that existed there. He began to grow uncomfortable and fearful the longer he went without breathing. He almost wanted to laugh at himself, an undead creature being afraid of drowning. But the large body of water seemed so limitless, and the only thing he had to lead him was the man that swam beside him, slightly in front.

Carlisle looked towards him several times, but Edward would not return the glances. Once again, he thought of how bizarre and scary his predicament was, feeling a bit satisfied that he had been right when he had sensed something so completely other about Carlisle when he had still been human. As though he sensed Edward was growing uneasy, Carlisle pointedly thought,

_Would you like to surface for a moment?_

Turning his head towards Carlisle, Edward nodded and began kicking towards the surface.

Breaking free from the oppressive weight of the lake, Edward gasped. The rush of air that filled him was heavily scented by things that made him want to wrinkle his nose. He took many more breaths, still feeling crushed as he glanced around for land.

Carlisle allowed Edward a few moments before speaking.

"I know right now swimming on the surface would seem much more comfortable to you, but it is much safer under water. For that, I am sorry."

"Safer for whom?" Edward replied, feeling indignant. Had he not gone through enough? Carlisle did not answer his question.

"The sooner we go back under, the sooner we will be there," he said to Edward, not giving the obvious answer to the question.

"If I cannot smell people, I will not want to drink them, yes? Is that why?" Edward knew that that was Carlisle's reasoning, but felt like being pushy.

Carlisle answered without speaking and once again went under water.

They swam for what seemed like ages to Edward and he was getting exceptionally bored. The initial fear that he had felt had long since subsided and was replaced by monotony. Everything looked the same, and Carlisle's constant stream of upbeat thoughts was beginning to wear on him.

Finally, Carlisle thought directly at Edward.

_We are almost there._ Edward had no clue how Carlisle would know they were even at the right place. The mass of land he saw before him could be France for all he knew. _Will you stay in the water for awhile, under the surface, while I handle something? There is nothing in this water that can harm you._

Edward wanted to argue, wanted to protest and push back, but he could not very well do that when he could not speak. Images flashed through Carlisle's head of a lighthouse and a keeper's home. There were two humans on the island that he needed to talk into abandoning their post. The pictures in Carlisle's head of those humans made Edward's throat ache. He nodded, although he did not want to at all.

As soon as Edward had given Carlisle the affirmation, he swam upwards, his thoughts filled with trepidation and worry. He loathed the idea of leaving Edward on his own, but could see no way around it.

_This might take awhile_, Carlisle thought as he broke the surface.

For the first time since his awakening, Edward was alone.

He searched out Carlisle's mind, surprised when he found more than just Carlisle's internal voice present. The other thoughts had slipped in like thieves, and what he saw was odd. The two men must have been sleeping, the words and images disorienting and varied.

One man, his name must have been Justin because in the dream it was painted in the sky, dreamt of his children. He was flying and carrying two small girls on his extended wings in what appeared to be a snowstorm filled with flakes in different hues. Some were blue, some orange, some purple.

A sad smile graced Edward's lips as he tried to remember the last dream he had had, but that had been another lifetime. Could it really only have been a week before?

The other man's dreams were lewd; his name was Harry because the woman in his dream called it repeatedly, and paired with the thoughts of Carlisle and the innocent, familial dreams of the other gentleman, they were appalling. Edward could not tune him out though, could not stop any of the words and pictures that appeared in his mind. He closed his eyes but it only made the things in his head that much brighter. The bout of claustrophobia Edward had encountered earlier was steadily returning. He wanted to breathe.

Edward did not see what it would hurt to stick his head above the surface. Surely he would not be tempted by a scent on the other side of an island.

The dreams abruptly stopped as Carlisle woke the men. They were frightened by him, and Edward was not surprised. Carlisle seemed to calm them with ease, the man with the dreams of his family more wary. The information he gave them was limited, but as soon as he mentioned money, both men seemed more than interested.

Edward wondered how much money Carlisle had. He had been around for ages, and being a doctor was a fairly prestigious position. Still, the amount he offered the men seemed ludicrous. One man was worried about the ships and wanted to make sure that Carlisle knew how to man the light. Carlisle assured him he would look after it well, not wishing harm on anyone. Finally, both men took what Carlisle offered and he reminded them to check in at the end of the season, keep their whereabouts until then a secret, and not to return until the following Autumn.

The mere thoughts of the men had Edward's mouth watering and they were _so _close by. The onslaught of voices in his head and the weight of the water continued to be oppressive, and Edward started to panic. Kicking towards the surface, he told himself he would be fine; there was no harm in simply taking a few breaths, getting some fresh air on his face - he only wanted to breath; not at all did he want to drink those men.

Just before he reached the surface, he heard Carlisle's thoughts again as he hurried the men along, rushing them to their boat. He worried for Edward, alone and frightened in a strange place. The kindness and care in Carlisle's musings made Edward halt his movements.

With much effort, Edward convinced himself that he could hold off longer, the strength of the man watching out for him becoming his own.

What seemed like ages later, Edward heard the men leaving, heard Carlisle coming to retrieve him. Swimming the final few feet to the surface, he broke out of the water, gulping in the fresh air. The first sight he was met with upon opening his eyes was Carlisle, several yards ahead, standing in the rocky sand, ankle deep in water.

Edward thought it strange how completely different Carlisle looked compared to the man Edward had been leery of more than a week prior. Carlisle's hair was wild, having long ago come loose from the tie he had kept it in, his clothes filthy and wet, his white doctor's coat discarded before Edward had even awakened from the burning. More than ever before, Carlisle looked like the creature he was, the ones Edward had heard horror stories about. He was even more impressed that Carlisle was able to talk the men into leaving the lighthouse in his care.

Swimming towards him, Edward was awash in the scent of the recently departed humans. The odor was pungent and unyielding, forcing Edward to swim faster so that he might get a bigger waft of it.

As Edward reached the shore, Carlisle gave him an unneeded hand to his feet and stared at him a moment, taking in the darkness of Edward's eyes. Carlisle's pride in Edward was once again echoed in his thoughts.

"I know how difficult that was for you," Carlisle said, nodding. "Would you like to hunt now?"

Edward could not answer; the amount of venom that had flooded his mouth was developing so swiftly, he had not the time to swallow. He wanted to hunt - he truly did - but the thought of chasing and drinking another animal seemed disgusting with the heavenly scent of warm humans teasing him. Without giving Carlisle even the slightest clue to his intentions, Edward wandered off, soon running towards the warm, moist, luscious scent that embraced him. The smell called out to him with promises of relief and comfort, its voice as soothing as his mother's, as familiar as an old friend.

Within seconds, he was at the keeper's house, searching the empty rooms where the scent of blood was so strong. The knowledge that a half hour prior there had been humans there, sleeping so helplessly - so easy to take - made Edward want to scream. It was as though he could still hear the echoes of the pounding of their hearts, all the blood being pushed through their tender veins, so prime and ready.

Edward could picture it; he knew what the men looked like from their dreams. With perfect clarity, he saw himself creeping in, the room bathed in the heated aroma of blood. He could imagine touching the hot, living skin of the man, Harry - the one with the awful dreams - and feeling the rush of blood just under the surface. Every beat of his heart would make Edward's mouth water and he would revel in the last moments of that man's life, before sinking his teeth into the flesh of his throat like butter, his mouth instantly warmed by the perfect temperature of blood, while his throat would be cooled by the life-giving offering. Edward moaned, feeling a more acute sense of loss than he had when he realized his parents were dead.

He eventually found himself, in a bedroom with hands splayed on the place where one of the men had slept. The warmth that the body had exuded was still present, but grew cold the longer Edward kept his frosty appendages against the heat. Again, he wanted to scream. How would he live like this?

"The scent will fade."

Edward felt that he would have been surprised by Carlisle's voice had he not been in such despair over what he had lost.

"The scent will fade," Carlisle said again. "And you will grow desensitized. I am not certain that it is not a good thing their scent is so fresh."

Carlisle's statement garnered Edward's attention, and he snapped his head to look at him, his visage in an expression of incredulity. "How is this a good thing?" he asked, fingers twisting in the cooled sheets, the sound of fabric ripping filling the air.

"It will help you grow accustomed to the smell. You now know how much you want them, and now you can start your fight against it."

At that moment, Edward did not want to fight against it. He wanted to swim after those men, to think only of himself and ease his sense of loss, soothe the pain he was in physically and emotionally. It would be so easy...

_You are good, Edward. You do not want to hurt those men. They might have families, as you once did._

Edward thought about the man named Justin and the dream of the little girls he flew on his back. The memory of their delighted giggles resounded through Edward, and he knew they would be heartbroken if their father never returned.

Edward sighed in exasperation as he let the relief he sought slip through his fingers, sail away. "Fine. I would like to hunt now," he said, rising to his feet and brushing past Carlisle, who stood in the doorway. Although he did not look at him, Edward knew that Carlisle was smiling.

~oOo~

The next few months passed by with Edward in a consistent state of trying to wake up. Since he was never able to sleep, at some point he had almost convinced himself he was in an elaborate, seemingly endless dream. What he was could not be real; he was simply still in the hospital, his fever making his subconscious go wild. It made sense that the odd doctor would be the feature in his dream, seeing as how Edward had been so cautious of him.

But Edward understood that what he was living was no dream. The strangeness he felt was all too real, the flavor of blood much too lovely to have been something he could think up. It took time to come to terms with what he had become, to get used to the idea of never seeing his parents again, but eventually he did, and Carlisle was there each time Edward became overwhelmed, whether it be by anger or desolation.

That winter was one of the coldest Wisconsin had ever seen, but to Edward and Carlisle it made no difference. Edward, however, had been growing weary of the short, overcast days that were only followed by overcast nights.

Life on Devils island had been interesting to begin with. Edward explored the caves that had men so frightened, stood inside them as the wind caused them to moan and groan and thought the sounds beautiful. He was reminded of the pipe organ he had played for church on Sundays, his fingers itching to play. He had wondered if he would still remember his favorite songs when he was able to exercise them again.

Before long, though, Edward had started getting bored. The island was small and the wildlife unvaried. Carlisle began going to other islands to hunt, bringing animals back for Edward. Edward grew tired of that system, disgusted by cold blood, resenting Carlisle for not trusting him enough to take him along. Soon after Edward voiced his displeasure, the men developed a system where Carlisle would swim to some of the islands in closest proximity, make sure there were no humans dangerously close by, and then think at Edward to follow. Edward found that the longer he knew Carlisle, the more familiar his internal voice became, so he could hear his thoughts even when he was miles away.

With being able to venture out, Edward found a small amount of reprieve. Still, the near constant watch Carlisle kept on him was annoying. Although Carlisle gave him large amounts of freedom when they were on Devils Island, when they went to the others, Carlisle practically held his hand.

Edward took advantage of the freedoms he was granted by taking long walks on his own, looking for solace and comfort in the covering of the trees. As winter finally subsided and spring began to peek its head, Edward began to feel hopeful. The scent of the men in the keeper's house had indeed faded the way Carlisle had said, and Edward had noticed in the six months since they had arrived on the island that his control was getting better. He was able to pay attention for longer periods, able to hunt cautiously, and he had grown used to his over active senses and strength.

And although Carlisle not only kept the lighthouse but also acted as Edward's keeper, he had grown to admire him; their companionship an easy thing. The stories Carlisle had were endless, some exciting. He had travelled everywhere and knew so much of the world. It had become almost a nightly ritual for the two men to sit on the sandy shore as the light of day dipped below the horizon and exchange stories. Edward had run out soon after arriving, but Carlisle still had something new to share every day. Edward was enthralled by the horror stories of the Volturi, saddened by the stories of Carlisle's father, and excited when Carlisle spoke of his studies. Edward still held hope of furthering his education and Carlisle ensured him that he could.

The serene and even tone of Carlisle's voice made Edward almost believe he could sleep again, that the comforting sound could follow him into dreams. Edward still had difficulty believing that anyone could mistake Carlisle for a human. No human could have such patience, such a calm and beautiful facade. No matter how Edward searched his face and mind for an imperfection, he never encountered one.

Carlisle continued to stress the need for salvation, still told Edward he had a soul. Edward knew his own wicked compulsions and could not comprehend something as evil as he still getting into Heaven. He humored the man, though, and did not argue. Everything about Carlisle was so sincere, Edward knew that every word he spoke he completely believed and that he would never be swayed. It was because of Carlisle's sincerity and openness of thought that Edward remained on the island and away from humans, and it was because of the easy companionship they shared that Edward would stay with Carlisle as long as he could. He thought himself lucky - if he was to be damned to a never-ending existence - that he had someone like Carlisle to guide him.

Edward was on one of his walks, enjoying the fresh bit of greenery that was presenting itself. Along with the green came bugs; Edward could hear them crawling around, buzzing through the air.

He stopped walking when he saw a praying mantis slowly crawling across a low lying branch. Remembering how he had always found the insect unnaturally creepy, he walked closer to it and laughed as it tried to scuttle away. He snatched it up, proud of himself when he kept from crushing it. He looked forward to telling Carlisle how controlled he had been. There were plenty of broken door knobs and uprooted trees to attest to Edward's previous lack of control.

Looking at it between his thumb and forefinger, it turned its bulbous eyes towards Edward, its head almost turned backwards so that it could glance at him.

Edward thought the bug still exceptionally ugly, but felt he could understand it better, being what he was. The bug struggled to get away from him, nearly disengaging one of its back legs. Edward blew his cold breath over it and it stilled, momentarily stunned.

The insect once again turned its large eyes on Edward. Taking in its praying stance, stick arms clasped together in front of it, Edward shook his head. The way it reflexively stayed in that position on resting reminded him of Carlisle - always praying. He could hear Carlisle's voice echoing in his head, 'We must remember to pray, Edward. In prayer we remember humility and in humility we remain human.' Edward pondered how he rather liked Carlisle, despite his preaching; a more honest man could not be found, vampire or human.

The bug tilted its head and Edward placed it on his open palm, thrilled that it did not immediately flee.

"You and I are similar, you know. You eat disgusting things, as do I. We are both feared, and we both have big scary eyes." Edward widened his eyes to emphasize his point and got within inches of the bug. It promptly ran away.

Edward laughed at himself for speaking out loud to an insect. The isolation must have been making him desperate.

Edward took a deep breath after laughing, and his good humor abruptly stopped. The scent that filled his nostrils was familiar and already his throat was aching. It was human, and it was on his island. Without another conscious thought he was running.

He could not even ponder it - his body was reacting on its own. Edward could not bring himself to think of the scent as a person; he had forgotten how wonderful the fresh scent of _real _blood had been. Listening intently, Edward could hear the thunderous pounding of three hearts on the other side of the island. In only a few more seconds, he would have what he had lamented losing six months prior. He would have it and all would be well. Why should he care what Carlisle thought?

_Carlisle._

The second that Edward paused he was plowed into. He struggled against Carlisle as he pinned him to the ground.

"Let me go!" Edward screamed, writhing and desperate. Why did Carlisle not want him to have relief?

"No," Carlisle replied, gritting his teeth and exerted all his might to keep Edward in place.

"You want me to suffer. You would deny me forever!" Edward shouted, managing to flip over and look at Carlisle, the expression he was met with sad.

"I do not wish you suffering-"

"Then let me go!" Edward replied, continuing his struggle, his rage multiplying the longer Carlisle held him down. Carlisle's piteous thoughts made him angrier. "I _need _it. _Please! _Just this one time. Simply let me drink _one _of them. I promise I will stop."

"No, Edward-"

"I _hate _you!" he said, all the venom in his body minuscule compared to that in his words. "I hate you. Damn you for doing this to me, you selfish _coward!" _

Edward would not look at Carlisle as he flung the most hateful words he could think of. He struggled and mumbled and shouted and cried in the only way one could without tears. Carlisle still kept him down, no longer speaking aloud but trying to think comforting thoughts. Even after Edward spouted such vile words at him, he would not be angered.

Eventually that burning need to drink lessened, and Edward became less aware of the scent of humans and more aware of Carlisle. No longer did it seem that Carlisle held him down, but it simply seemed as though Carlisle held him. He had never been so conscious of the position of Carlisle's hands, fingers, and arms before, never had he paid attention to the length of Carlisle's body. At that moment, he did; he felt every inch of Carlisle pressed against him, his flesh temperate and soothing.

Something changed for Edward as he finally and completely calmed. He wondered if Carlisle had felt it, too. Searching his mind, nothing appeared different. Edward found Carlisle's golden eyes and furrowed his brow. He waited a few moments, expecting Carlisle's anger to manifest once he ceased his movements, but Carlisle continued to look back at him, his features calm.

Carlisle must have been in the water; Edward realized he was soaking wet, his hair loose as a few haphazard strands caressed Edward's face, shielding him from anything that was not Carlisle like a silken curtain as gold as the man's eyes. How had Edward never noticed how soft the tendrils were, or how wonderful Carlisle smelled? The natural scent of him forced any other fragrances from Edward's proximity and each inhale caused him more confusion. What he did know, was that he did not hate Carlisle at all; hate had become the furthest thing from his mind.

"I do not actually hate you," Edward said, apologizing without actually doing so.

"I know," Carlisle said, helping him up and leading him to the water. "We need to get you under water until those people leave."

With a nod, Edward followed, aware of each of Carlisle's movements from the flex of his fingers to the movement of legs as he walked.


	8. Blessed Are Those Who Mourn

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Author's note: Thanks to ms-ambrosia for the beta work! This is from Edward again. Next chapter will give us more insight into Carlisle. Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and faves. **

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_Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted, _The Bible, Matthew 5:4

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As the one year anniversary of his rebirth approached, Edward began passing the days the way a card player might count cards: feigning nonchalance, pretending to be disinterested even though each printed square that passed through the dealer's fingers was accounted for and remembered.

Time became as difficult to hold onto as the dust motes that floated in the air. The seconds were plentiful, the minutes numerous, yet they were so short that they flew away from him, trying to slow them down impossible.

After his near slip with the men that had come to the island to do maintenance to the lighthouse, Edward had doubled his efforts to exert control. The shame he had felt after the incident was only deepened when afterwards Carlisle's thoughts betrayed his cool demeanor. Although he had stated that he knew Edward was apologetic for his hurtful words, he could not hide the guilt he had felt. The traitorous part inside of him rejoiced that Carlisle was hurt; should he not feel guilt after stealing Edward's peaceful death from him? He continued to battle that voice in his head as he continued to battle his monstrosity.

Edward began practicing caution when speaking to Carlisle, ensuring that he answered to spoken words instead of thoughts. He took over doing menial tasks, repairing things he had broken around the house, washing their clothing, manning the lighthouse when the season started. All the while, he clung to Carlisle, hung on his every word as though any moment he would be stolen away. Edward feared returning to the mainland, interacting with people. The past year had been surreal; he had spent so much time coping with what he had become - the joy in his new body as well as the pain. The tentative control he had found seemed delicate, a soap bubble that could easily disappear. Blood lust, despair and anger loomed over him, threatening to strangle him with compulsions he did not wish to feel. And there was the companionship with Carlisle. Would he still have his full attention once they went back to reality? Edward was certain Carlisle would want to return to work; the thought of having to share him with others caused Edward upset.

Carlisle had been his anchor, his strength. If not for him, Edward was sure he would not have the will to withstand becoming a sinister creature, not caring for anyone that stood in his path of destruction. However, it seemed the more controlled Edward became and the more he sought out Carlisle's company, the more time Carlisle spent on his own, swimming so far from the island that Edward could no longer discern his thoughts. Edward would miss him; their separation seemed endless - the only seconds and minutes that did not fly by.

The day Carlisle told him they could leave was a difficult one. The words manifested in Carlisle's thoughts before he spoke, yet Edward still could not control his downtrodden reaction. Moments before, Carlisle had been projecting pride and pleasure in watching Edward hunt, pondering how lovely Edward's eyes were - a rich, buttery gold. Hardly able to concentrate anyway, Carlisle's thoughts on the beauty of how Edward hunted did nothing to help him focus.

"I think, as soon as you want to, that we can go back to the mainland, Edward," Carlisle said, smiling as Edward straightened himself out.

"Oh? You really think so?" Edward concentrated on what he was doing, hiding the bear's body that he had just drained.

Carlisle thought Edward should be more bolstered by the information.

"Yes, of course. You have handled all of this in a manner beyond what I could have imagined. I know you may be wary of how you will react with the thoughts in your head, but-"

"I am not worried about that," Edward replied, his attention focusing on Carlisle.

"Are you not happy to return to society? Have you not wanted more freedom?" Carlisle's eyebrows had drawn together.

"Well, yes," Edward replied, his answer tinged with reluctance..

"Edward, you are the mind reader. I've no clue what you are thinking. Tell me what is going on?" Carlisle approached him, placing his finger below his chin so that their eyes were level. A warm smile appeared on Carlisle's face. He was not happy about Edward's reluctance, but took great joy in Edward's visage.

Edward's expression crumpled and he shrugged off Carlisle's hand. Carlisle's simple touches had started something in Edward, and he could bring himself to comprehend what that something was. What he did know was that he was aware of Carlisle and everything he did; he felt a constant longing to be close to him.

"You truly feel that I will not be a danger to anyone?" Edward asked, toeing the dirt before turning his back on Carlisle. How could he tell Carlisle what his full reluctance was?

"I cannot say that you will not have difficulties," Carlisle started. Edward heard him take a few steps closer, a warm, comforting hand being placed on his back. He knew that Carlisle would be standing with his left foot slightly in front, his weight leaning on his right. Edward knew because he knew Carlisle. "But I know your heart, and that is what you must let lead."

Closing his eyes, Edward sighed. Carlisle put such faith in Edward's morality; how would he feel if he knew of that growing _something _that truly resided in Edward's heart? Carlisle did not know that by putting faith in Edward's morality, he was, in all actuality, placing faith in himself. Carlisle was Edward's guide, not some moral compass.

Edward turned around to face Carlisle again, the openness of his expression easing his fears minutely. The thought crossed his mind that he could use Carlisle's care for him to keep him to himself longer, even if they did go back to civilization. "Would you stay with me? Keep a watch over me as I acclimate to being around other people?" Edward asked, ignoring his conscience when it told him he was being manipulative.

Carlisle did not hesitate to answer him. "Of course, Edward." Visions of ill patients and how eager he was to assist thundered through Carlisle's head. Edward knew how Carlisle's hands itched to heal, yet he did not withdraw his request.

"Are you anxious about getting what is yours from Chicago?" Carlisle added.

"Chicago? What would I have to gain from going back there?"

"I am certain you would have been left an inheritance. Your home, your parents' possessions, _your _possessions..."

"But...they would have thought me dead, would they not?"

"Never did I complete a death certificate for you, Edward. I simply left in your chart that you were released to an uncle. The hospital would have been left with the impression that you were leaving the city until you were well enough to claim what is yours. Your father was a lawyer, yes?"

For a moment, Edward drew a blank. His memories were cloudy; he recalled them with great difficulty, as though he were looking at a photograph through a sheet of waxed paper. "Yes," he finally answered. "He had a partner."

"Certainly, he had a clear plan for you in his will, especially after the influenza began spreading. And by this point, your father's personal representative would have handled everything. Probably his partner?"

Edward nodded slowly, analyzing what it would mean to go back. The idea had not occurred to Edward. Suddenly, the thought of going back to the last place he had had a full, complete and happy family made him want to move. He desired to touch the things that had made him real, things that would remind him that he had been human once, and to remember what it was like to be beloved.

"When can we leave?"

~oOo~

Edward thought he had been prepared, that he had readied himself as much as needed to experience being around other people. He had been wrong. As soon as he encountered the first wafts of human blood, he had nearly lost control, venom leaking from the corners of his mouth, his head pounding with errant thoughts and musings. His heightened senses as well as his gift left him outrageously overwhelmed, and he had to retreat more than a handful of times. Carlisle was patient with him, as he had been consistently, talking to Edward, helping him focus, never chiding him except for when Edward would spew hate at himself. Edward pushed himself forward though, finally following Carlisle into Ashland, Wisconsin, although his control left him feeling balanced as though on the edge of a knife. There was not a place he did not ache, but Edward still managed to make his limbs obey him.

They stopped in Ashland to send a telegram to Edward Masen, Sr.'s business partner. While waiting on an answer, they stayed there, Edward deciding that he wanted to come back once they had visited Chicago. The thought of residing somewhere so far from the lake did not appeal to him; he had become to accustomed to the sounds of water lapping against the shore as he relaxed, the gentle tones aiding in his control. He adored the small city, overflowing with breathtaking views and plentiful wildlife, and he loathed to be far from the place he had spent so many precious moments with his maker, adjusting to the new life he was to lead. Carlisle agreed with him, his love for the area clear in his thoughts. The best part was that there were plenty of places in which they could isolate themselves, so Edward knew he would be able to find a reprieve from the noises in his brain, the pain in his body.

Carlisle had been right when he assumed Edward's father would have taken care of anything. His business partner, Mr. Wright, had indeed been named as personal representative to the Masen estate. Edward was pleased to hear that there was only a small amount of paperwork he needed to sign for everything to legally be his, all the assets having already spent their time in probate. Mr. Wright had agreed to meet with them in a few days time to get everything settled. Carlisle would pose as Edward's uncle, a brother to his mother. Edward was wary, nervous that Mr. Wright might recognize Carlisle as the doctor that had worked in the hospital, but Carlisle assured him that he had never met a Mr. Wright.

Edward would have to pretend to be blind; they had acquired some darkened spectacles to cover Edward's eyes. Mr. Wright was a cherished family friend and would notice the drastic change in Edward's eye color. Edward would have to blame many things on the influenza; he knew that more than his eye color was different, and he prayed that Mr. Wright would not expect him to speak much. Not only had Edward been thrust into playing human, he would have to do it for someone that had known him well. The desire to visit his former home, though, trumped all his trepidations.

They arrived in Chicago and awaited nightfall; Mr. Wright had not commented on the late appointed meeting time, although Edward could hear the curiosity in his thoughts when they arrived at his office. Edward desired to glance around his surroundings, wondering how much had changed since his father's death, but resisted the urge. He cursed his oddity, resenting that he had to pretend to be handicapped.

Edward flitted his eyes around as much as possible behind the dark glasses. His overactive senses not used to being hampered in such a way. Even when in Ashland and pretending to be human, Edward had been allowed to fully take in his surroundings, and he had always been able to look towards Carlisle for an encouraging smile or nod of the head. Without that encouragement, he felt exposed, his oddity easy to distinguish. If it had not been for the fact Edward could read his thoughts, he would have been sure that Mr. Wright could see through his flimsy facade.

"I truly miss your father's guidance, Edward," Mr. Wright said. Edward, who sat across from him, had not been paying attention to what had been said, spending long moments watching the man's pulse in his throat, but the sound of his name bringing his attention back. He nodded towards Mr. Wright, but was careful to aim the gesture indirectly, bluffing the loss of his sight.

"As do I," Edward replied softly; he had been limiting the words he spoke to keep from rousing any more suspicion. Carlisle had handled all the formalities and introductions, filling Mr. Wright in on Edward's 'condition' and telling him of their whereabouts over the last year.

"When I heard what had happened to them, well...I...and then to see how you have been affected...I...," the gentleman floundered. _I feel so sorry him. Losing both parents, losing his sight, going to live with a distant relative...practically a stranger... _

"You pity me," Edward stated, wanting to laugh at the thoughts he had read. If only Mr. Wright knew exactly what had occurred - that he actually had been thrust into the care of a stranger.

Mr. Wright, being the wordsmith that he was, glossed over his thoughts. He could not hide from Edward though. Edward's short experience reading minds since he had been exposed to more and more people had been that everyone was hiding something, covering up their true feelings, wearing a mask; it made him that much more appreciative of Carlisle. Edward wanted no one's pity, but he spoke no more on the subject to Mr. Wright.

Edward wanted to be done speaking with Mr. Wright. He was a part of a life that Edward no longer lead, a life he could hardly remember. Carlisle assisted Edward in signing the paperwork, clutching the back of his hand and placing it correctly on the paper. Edward found it much easier to pretend to require assistance when Carlisle's firm palm pressed against him, his fingers wrapped around Edward's.

"Will you be selling the house, Edward?" Mr. Wright inquired.

"No, I think I would like to keep it," Edward answered, noticing how neat his signature looked on the papers.

"So you will be staying in the city?"

Edward resisted the urge to look at Carlisle. "No, I think not."

"You could get a good price for it. Why-?"

"I plan on keeping it forever, Mr. Wright, whether I live in it or not," Edward answered, resenting that Mr. Wright had begun to pry. He would keep the house as long as he existed; no one else would live there.

"As you wish," Mr. Wright said.

The three men exchanged a few departing words and Carlisle led Edward out, holding his elbow.

"Would you like to go to your house now, Edward?" Carlisle asked, wrapping an arm around Edward's shoulders and speaking to him quietly.

"Yes," Edward answered. "Yes, I believe I would."

They continued on without speaking, Edward feeling as though he was going to a funeral instead of simply visiting an old home. Carlisle kept his arm across Edward's back, continuing to lead Edward even though they were well out of Mr. Wright's vision. Edward needed Carlisle to guide him, his muscles feeling reluctant as though his very body wanted to keep him from remembering what it was to be human.

The first glance of his former home impacted Edward like a train, fuzzy memories coming clear as he remembered running up the front steps when his mother called him to dinner, rushing out the doors when he was late for school, sitting on the porch waiting for his friends.

Edward indicated for Carlisle to walk to the door first; he opened it and stepped out of the way to allow Edward entry. With unease, Edward stepped over the threshold, noticing the creaks and groans he had not heard previously. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he brushed aside some cobwebs, already seeing furniture covered in white sheets like ghostly apparitions glowering in the darkness. It smelled musty and stale in the house, not at all like the familiar, friendly scents he had always anticipated when coming in. Everything was so quiet, so still. His mother was not straightening the sitting room or bustling about the kitchen; his father was not in his office, smoking his pipe or rustling papers. What he had loved about the house was gone. It might as well have been a mausoleum; Edward felt it was more haunted than any graveyard.

"Edward?" Carlisle said. Edward turned his head towards the sound of Carlisle's voice, almost jumping at the way it ripped through the heavy quiet.

"Hmm?" Edward murmured, wanting to keep from disturbing the silence any further.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, understanding Edward's need for quiet.

He nodded once before proceeding forward, his footsteps silent, the disturbance of the layer of dirt that covered the floor the only indication that any one was present in the house. He did not have many points of interest downstairs, so he walked upstairs, Carlisle remaining where he stood in the foyer.

First, he went into his room. He pulled the sheets that covered his furniture off and left them in the floor. The book he had been reading was lying on his nightstand, facedown, the spine broken from being left in the position for so long. Running his fingertips over it, he thought of his last days or normality, reading that book. There was nothing else he desired to see in that room. He did make note of his clothing, thinking he should bring some with him. The few articles of clothing Carlisle had given him were not in the best of shape.

Next, he went into his parents' room, removing the coverings as he had done in his. He walked over to the wardrobe, sliding out one of his father's jackets. Pushing his arms into the sleeves, he stood up straight, noticing the length fit him well, but his shoulders were not quite broad enough. He put his hands in the pockets, finding a peppermint stick. Withdrawing it he smiled. Edward Sr. had always seemed to have some kind of confection on his person; he was cursed with a sweet tooth that Elizabeth had constantly chided him for. Edward placed the candy back in the pocket, but left the jacket on, the scent of pipe tobacco and peppermint making him feel closer to his father.

Walking over to the chest of drawers, he saw his mother's wedding ring sitting there where she had removed it the evening she had been taken to the hospital. She had taken it off to prepare Edward's dinner. Feeling guilty, Edward picked it up; even in the darkness the multifaceted gems seemed to sparkle, colors present in them that Edward could never have seen before. Edward shoved it in his pocket, unable to leave it behind.

He went back into the hallway, going into the water closet. There he found his father's shaving kit. Almost absentmindedly, Edward touched his face, feeling the barely visible stubble that would never grow. His father had taught him to shave with the very same kit, well before he had ever had the need. Edward gathered it together, deciding he would take it with him, however pointless it might be.

Again, he walked into the bedroom that had been his parents', putting down the shaving kit and picking up his mother's perfume bottle. Gently removing the lid, he inhaled, and countless memories of warm arms comforting him presented themselves, recollections of kisses curing skinned knees or a bumped head. Flinging himself onto the bed with cold sheets and fluffed pillows, Edward wallowed in the dusty coverings as his grief overwhelmed him. For the first time since becoming a vampire, Edward truly mourned the loss of his parents.

The pain of grief and loss poured into Edward, a torrent of emotion he had had no time or attention for previously. Like a tiny cut that one had barely been aware of when it happened, Edward knew that his parents had been dead, but had not acknowledged it until it was infected and septic, inflamed and painful. He could no longer ignore the suffering as it held him down, leaving him fearful of moving, knowing that surely he would fall apart at the tiniest of jostling.

Edward's heart pounded out a staccato rhythm, clamoring throughout the enclosure of the forgotten room. It stopped a few beats and then started again, a perfect echo of the previous pattern. No, it was not the sound of his heart - he remembered his heart no longer functioned for circulating blood through his veins, and he raised his head from the pillows, noticing Carlisle stood at the entryway, knuckles resting against the door frame. Edward returned his head to the pillows, but kept his face turned towards Carlisle.

"You just realized what you have lost," Carlisle spoke, whispering as though he had read Edward's mind, maintaining the stillness, recognizing the grief that permeated the air.

"As vampires," he continued, "we are easily distracted. For us - even for humans, really - being in a completely different place and situation makes it easy to push grief aside. What we do not realize is how heavily we are impacted when it is fully presented." Carlisle walked to where Edward lay, sitting next to him and placing a hand on his back. "Here, in this place, you see it empty, you feel it now. _Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted._

"There are times when I forget that my father is long dead. Whether that be good or bad, depends on the person you ask."

Blinking back phantom tears, Edward looked every bit the seventeen-year-old he was, asking, "Do you ever blame him?" Edward thought of his mother, the memory of Carlisle's flickering through his head or his mother's desperate plea.

"I know what you are thinking, Edward, and your mother's request and my father's unending quest to seek and destroy evil were two different things. Out of love for you, she begged that you be spared. My father, although a man of God, was relentless, sending me on a task he saw as no less than divine, with no regard to my well-being. I am certain he felt that, since the mission was surely appointed by God, I would be watched over. I still believe I was.

"But, to answer your question, no, I cannot bring myself to blame him. He thought he honored me by allowing me the lead."

They sat together for a while, still, silent. Edward noticed the room beginning to lighten before he spoke again.

"How could she have known I would have anyone to look after me? Why would she assume it a greater kindness to let me live than to be accompanied by her in death?" Speaking the question aloud brought the answer, not from Carlisle, but manifested from within himself.

"Parents have a need to know that their progeny will survive, even in their absence. She wanted you to have the chance at life, you having been born such a short time ago. Mortality is delicate and death is final; she knew that better than most, teetering on the edge the way she was," he answered, the fingers that rested of Edward's back curling slightly, tracing small circles. Edward wished he had removed the jacket, the layer only creating more distance between him and Carlisle.

Although the answer that Carlisle had given might have been partially true, Edward knew the true response would be left unspoken. His mother had known, just as surely as Edward had come to understand, that it was _Carlisle_. Elizabeth Masen had been a perceptive woman; she saw the good in Carlisle, and without knowing him, entrusted the person she held most dear to his care. Somehow, she believed that Carlisle would nurture Edward, ensure he continued to exist and mature, emotionally if not physically. It was because of his mother's blind trust that Edward had not died from the Influenza, but it was because of Carlisle that Edward existed. Because of _Carlisle _Edward _existed. _Analyzing the thought, Edward understood the double entendre.

Edward no longer looked at Carlisle, but directed his glazed over expression towards his father's snuff box on the night stand, scrutinizing the delicately crafted patterns that resembled maple leaves inlaid in gleaming silver. Under normal circumstances, his mother would have been annoyed to see it there, discovering Edward Sr. had been smoking his pipe in bed, but it had gone unnoticed. Edward reached past Carlisle and snatched it up, shoving it in the pocket of the jacket he wore, feeling the need to cover for a man who no longer had worries.

"We can have whatever you want moved to Ashland. I noticed your piano downstairs. Would you want-?"

"No," Edward interrupted, directing his eyes back towards Carlisle. He adored that Carlisle had mentioned his music, remembering that, even though Edward had only mentioned it in passing, playing was something he treasured. Carlisle's appearance had not changed a bit since the day they met, but Edward thought Carlisle more beautiful than he could ever describe, like golden sunshine casting a clinquant glow on packed snow - almost too bright to look at, but too lovely to look away. "I want to leave things in order. It feels empty enough in here. But, do you think, when we get back, I could get a new one?"

"Of course, Edward. Anything you need to be comfortable," Carlisle answered, removing his hand from Edward's back. He wanted to ask Carlisle to put it back, to touch him again, but how could he? Instead he sat up.

"I miss the practice of playing the organ at church on Sundays," Edward said, attempting to smile, but his face felt stiff.

"Oh?" Carlisle sounded surprised. "You have never mentioning playing in church." Edward had not meant to keep it a secret, realizing he was not sure he had remembered that detail previously. "Where did you attend?"

Edward gave Carlisle the name and location of his former church. Unexpectedly, Carlisle's face split into a wide grin, eyes travelling to his hands in his lap, his two perfectly straight rows of teeth making the right side of Edward's mouth upturn the tiniest amount..

"What?" Edward chuckled, Carlisle's sudden joy infectious. Carlisle's thoughts began flitting through numerous occasions on which he had sat outside of Edward's church, listening to the rich notes of the pipe organ as they filled the air, feeling the balm of solace that came along with the sounds.

Knowing that Edward plucked the memories as he thought them, Carlisle answered, "It seems as though you offered me comfort and companionship well before either of us knew it."

Edward reveled in Carlisle's musings, full of affection and gratitude. A tiny rush of delight circulated through Edward. Logically, he knew that Carlisle would never consider that _something _that had presented itself in Edward as something more, but he could not stop the hope that someday Carlisle would change his mind. For the time being, he pushed it down and filed that hope away along with all the other urges he had experienced since his turning. He would have to remain content with pleasing Carlisle in any way he could, survive off the small bursts of joy he experienced when Carlisle smiled.

"I will play for you as much as you desire," Edward said.

Carlisle again thought of the free time he would continue to have as a result of not working, and, almost without thinking, Edward added, "You can return to work, Carlisle. I know I can control myself." It was true; Edward understood that if he were to hurt a human, Carlisle would be displeased, so he would do everything in his power to keep it from happening.

And there it was again, that heart-stirring upturn of Carlisle's lips, the rapturous thoughts of satisfaction and pleasure. Carlisle was selfless; Edward understood he would need to learn to be magnanimous as well. The thought of Carlisle gone for long hours made Edward uneasy, but Carlisle had thought not of himself even once in their year together while Edward thought of nothing _but _himself.

"You are simply amazing, Edward," Carlisle said, shaking his head. "Are you certain?"

"Most certain," Edward replied, rising from the bed and making sure he had everything he wanted to take. "Are you ready to leave?"

Carlisle glanced out the window, the light coming in seeming low and overcast. "So soon?"

"I've nothing more to gain by staying here," Edward stated, walking around looking for a bag he could put some possessions in, the snuff box thumping against his hip as he walked.

"Then let us leave." Carlisle also stood, covering the furniture with the sheets that Edward had discarded.

Taking what he wanted, Edward was prepared to go. Exiting the house with Carlisle, Edward stood at the bottom on the porch steps, one last, long look at a place where he had been a son, an intricate part of a family of three.

Edward extracted the snuff box from his pocket, opening it. The dried tobacco leaves were old, but still reminded him of his father. As the two began to stroll down the street, Edward shook the contents out behind him, feeling as though he scattered the ashes of his parents to the wind. He muttered a small prayer, sighed an almost silent goodbye, then turned away from his childhood home, ready to start living.

They left, leaving Edward's old home in almost the exact state they had found it in, his new home walking next to him in stride.

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**End note: If you haven't had a look yet, ms-ambrosia made a lovely banner and blinkie set for this fic. Links are on my profile. They're absolutely amazing! **


	9. Beyond What You Can Bear

**Author's note: Okay, it's been over a year since I've updated. I think we're beyond apologies for that now, and if you're reading this, you're probably just my friend feeling sorry for me and having a look. lol. I want to say a HUGE thanks to those of you who still ask about this fic; of course, you know who you are. Much, much love to ms. ambrosia who still cares enough to beta for me. **

**I don't know about you, but I had to reread the whole thing to recall what was happening. How 'bout a little refresher?**

**1. Prologue: Edward and Bella's wedding. Edward's thinking of Carlisle.**

**2. The Physician: We meet Carlisle, 1918, trying to keep his faith in the midst of a pandemic, bloodlust and immortality. We meet Edward, human, stubborn, obstinate, but he is only present a moment. Carlisle ponders the status of his soul, believes no one is beyond redemption.**

**3. The Innocent: Edward's family gets sick. He, in turn, falls ill. Edward has visions in the hospital. Carlisle bites him and he reads Carlisle's thoughts for the first time.**

**4. Healing to All Their Flesh: Carlisle's views of changing Edward, being begged by Edward's mother to save her son. Internal conflict with changing someone, blah, blah, blah. Carlisle struggles with the want to gobble Edward up when he bites him, blah, blah blah.**

**5. Agony in This Fire: The change from Edward's point of view. Confusion and bloodlust and curiosity.**

**6. Perplexed, but Not in Despair: Carlisle explains more to Edward on what he has become, shows him how to hunt, shares his views on life as a vampire. Edward has his first hunt. The two travel to a remote location to keep Edward for eating everybody.**

**7. Filled With All Unrighteousness: Edward feels a little crazy. All he wants is blood. He and Carlisle make it to Devil's island to keep Edward isolated. The two spend a lot of time together. Edward is all over the place. Some humans come to the island, Edward smells them and tries to drink, Carlisle stops him. Edward realizes he kinda sorta likes Carlisle. Like, he _like _likes him, and Carlisle's lovely long hair. ha.**

**8. Blessed Are Those Who Mourn: A year passes. Carlisle and Edward decide to leave the island. Edward doesn't like the idea. He's horribly fond of Carlisle and doesn't want him going back to work, not really. The two go to Chicago to claim Edward's inheritance. Edward truly mourns his parents and gathers a few of their belongings to take with him: his mother's ring, his father's shaving kit and snuff box. Carlisle discovers Edward used to play the organ at a church in Chicago, the same church Carlisle used to listen to the music and take solace. The two have decided to settle in Wisconsin, just inland from Devil's island.**

**Voila! All caught up.**

**As always, I don't own these characters.**

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_No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it. -The Bible, 1 Corinthians 10:13_

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Carlisle took his time walking home, strolling across the rocky beach which was not on his way. The winter wind was in full force, thrusting cold air and the scent of the lake into his face, aiding the clearing of his thoughts. Knowing his mind must be empty of his previous musings, he breathed out through his mouth as though he could expel his meanderings onto the breeze. Although he thrilled in working again, he could not hide the fact he missed Edward during his long shifts; Carlisle lamented being away from the lad, yet felt such relief his thoughts were not intruded upon while he was absent from Edward. How would Edward deal with his errant thoughts when Carlisle could scarcely make sense of them himself?

The only way Carlisle could describe what he felt was with the word longing. For what, exactly, Carlisle did not know. In the beginning, when the two resided on Devil's Island, Carlisle had had no worries of masking his thoughts, for they could not be misconstrued as anything but wholesome. But something changed so very gradually that Carlisle did not even notice, and one day Edward's hand had brushed against his—a simple, absent-minded touch that could occur accidentally between strangers. That touch had been what shook the beliefs Carlisle had always had, and for the first time in his memory, he could not face it head on, could make no sense of it. He had left the island, swimming far away so Edward's ability could not condemn him. Although he had been successful so far in keeping his thoughts from Edward, Carlisle knew he could not hide what he thought from God, and for that, he was ashamed.

Almost two years had passed since Carlisle changed Edward, and each day that passed he found it was more difficult to keep his distance, to be simply a father to Edward the way the young vampire needed. Carlisle was convinced it was the parasite infecting him that wanted Edward in a way that was not normal. He wanted blood when it was not natural, and he wanted Edward in an equally unnatural way. Carlisle would do anything to keep it to himself.

But Edward was such a strong young man, so attractive, intelligent and caring. Everything he should want in a son, but more so what he would want in a mate.

_A mate! _Carlisle thought, scoffing. Carlisle prayed as he walked, as he did every day in the final moments before arriving home. God knew how Carlisle strove to maintain his control, in every aspect of his life, so Carlisle already knew he was forgiven for his thoughts that bordered on impious.

The sun began peeking at Carlisle over the horizon, threatening him with its warm, happy rays. He could not linger any longer; he needed to quell his thoughts and make his way home to Edward. He left the shore, listening to the rhythmic crunching of his feet on the ground and turned his thoughts to Christmas.

The previous two Christmases Carlisle had spent with Edward had not given much time for celebration. The first, Edward was a wild thing, unaware of anything other than his lust for blood. The second was more sorrowful than celebratory; Edward had finally mourned for his parents and spent the holiday lamenting their absence. He had not mentioned the season other than to say how his parents had always made it memorable for him, even through his teenage years. Carlisle had not the heart to suggest such frivolities as a decorated tree or brightly wrapped gifts. Carlisle himself had not celebrated other than in prayer, or, in previous years, swapping gifts with nurses at hospitals he had worked.

Carlisle's mind focused on these things-lights, gifts, family-as he entered his home. Edward met him at the door, his face split into a beatific smile. Everything about him was so flawless; it seemed as though each time Carlisle parted from Edward, he forgot how strong the curve of Edward's jaw was, how ripe his cheeks were when his lips upturned. Edward's smile grew wider.

_Christmas is in two days. Sleigh bells. Snow. Santa Claus. _Anything to keep from thinking of Edward's mouth.

"I have a surprise for you," Edward began. "For Christmas. Well, it's more something for the both of us, and not necessarily for Christmas. I suppose your thoughts are infectious." Edward's eyes gleamed, his expression impish, and Carlisle could not help but wonder what thoughts Edward actually referred to.

Carlisle's lips curled to match Edward's and as Edward turned away, leading Carlisle to his room, the older man had the urge to clutch the younger's hand.

Edward walked soundlessly, his footfalls as quiet and quick as butterfly wings. Hearing Carlisle's errant thoughts, Edward chuckled and placed his hand, palm facing Carlisle, at the small of his back. He did not turn around, simply left his palm, fingers splayed and hopeful, open to Carlisle. An innocent invitation. Carlisle turned his eyes to his feet on the stairs.

Edward finally moved his offered hand to push open the door to his room.

Carlisle did not go into Edward's room; it seemed too personal, too invasive, too dangerous. He hesitated at the doorway as Edward went inside, glancing around the space that was all Edward. Sighing, Carlisle's eyes touched the plain wooden dresser, topped with a shaving kit, an elaborate ring and a snuff box-all laid in order as though waiting on their owners to return.

In the low light, his eyes fell on the bed-Edward had insisted-perfectly made with crisp linens and goose down coverings. Carlisle looked back at Edward and sighed again, noticing how silver and still and out of place he looked surrounded by human things. Carlisle made Edward into something completely other, and was always awed, somewhat prideful, and filled with guilt upon reminders.

The sun rising filled the room slowly with a tinge of warmth, slanted rays through open windows. The expression on Edward's face seemed odd as he walked back over to Carlisle and took his elbow to usher him inside.

Carlisle jerked his arm back, not knowing why, fully understanding what Edward had meant to do. The boy looked wounded, though only for a moment.

"Are you all right, Carlisle?" Edward crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms as though to keep them contained.

"Of course," Carlisle replied, pushing past Edward and standing in the middle of the room to prove his rightness.

"Why are you thinking of guilt?"

"Please don't listen to my thoughts, Edward," Carlisle ordered, though he knew the gift Edward had was impossible to shut off.

"You know, I try." Edward ran a hand through his hair, the only truly human fidget Edward brought with him through the transition. "It's so quiet here during the night. I simply take comfort in the noise from your head. It aids as a reminder I'm not alone."

The boy's words scared Carlisle, and it showed on his face, in his thoughts. How much had he picked up from Carlisle's thoughts? Then, there was the guilt. Always the guilt he felt, for his thoughts, for Edward's loneliness.

"I don't listen to what you're thinking most of the time. It's the sound and flavor of your mind which comforts me," Edward added quickly, trying to ease Carlisle's discomfort. "Sort of like listening to music while reading."

Carlisle knew even while he read, he heard every note Edward played. He felt the sudden urge to change the subject.

"I apologize for your lonesome nights, Edward. I know it has been difficult since I've begun working again."

"No, I understand. No need for apologies. What I have to show you actually has something to do with that." Edward reached into his closet as he spoke, pulling out a sweater with an emblem over the left breast, stitched in gold.

Carlisle's eyebrows pulled together as he looked at the sweater, understanding it was collegiate.

"What do you-?"

"I want to go to college and study medicine. I want to be a doctor, like you."

Carlisle had difficulty wrapping his mind around what Edward said.

"When did you-?"

"I went to the Northland campus a few days ago when it was cloudy. It was a challenge, but I did not kill anyone." Edward smiled, garnering a smile from Carlisle in return.

"Edward, I... Do you really think you could tolerate it? It's only been a little over two years. I mean, I support you, of course, know you can control yourself, but why suffer through it?" Carlisle was overwhelmed-pride, fondness, worry, hope, flattery. Maybe a small amount of jealously. A wicked part of Carlisle felt that Edward was his, a secret joy and shame. Others knew of his existence, the younger brother of Carlisle's late wife, but none were allowed to revel in his presence the way Carlisle was. He pushed the feeling aside.

"I thought I could learn for both of us. It's been a long while since you have gone, correct? We can get you updated and I can learn. Then, well, maybe, someday, we could work together?"

Carlisle thought of never spending a moment away from Edward; it would be exhausting and exhilarating. To turn to his left and see Edward beside him, healing, aiding. To turn to his right and see the line of Edward's jaw, the slope of his neck as he examined. To look in front of him and see Edward's back as he followed the boy through hospital hallways, Edward's clean scent counteracting the smell of death and sickness. How could he say no, but how could he keep his thoughts to himself constantly?

"I won't listen, I promise," Edward answered in response to Carlisle's thoughts.

Carlisle stared at Edward; the young man's eyes so hopeful Carlisle could not dash that hope. He remembered that hope, and the leafy green eyes replaced by gold. He needed a little more time, time to sort out his thoughts.

"You should do it, Edward," Carlisle started, "but in the fall. That would give us almost a year to fully prepare you." He stopped to look Edward over, his stillness, his unnatural beauty, the unlikeness hanging around him like a cloak. "You need to learn how to be human again."

Edward nodded profusely, a simple parting of his lips as a buoyant laugh escaped him. "I will. You can show me."

_Yes, _Carlisle thought, _I can teach you._

~oOo~

On Christmas Eve, Edward decided they needed to decorate for the holiday. Carlisle had the night off.

"But not a big tree," Edward said. "A Christmas bush might be more appropriate."

Carlisle agreed, happy Edward was taking steps toward a more normal existence. Celebrating a holiday, that was one of the most normal, human things a person could do.

So they set off into the woods as the light quickly retreated into evening. A heavy, wet snow had been steadily falling over the last few days, but their steps were still silent. Carlisle thought it a good chance to humanize Edward.

"Try walking heavier. Make some noise as you go." Carlisle demonstrated by dragging his feet, the slush shifting and crunching as he moved through.

"You're scaring away our Christmas dinner," Edward whispered, the grin on his face giving away his jest. It was true; Carlisle could hear the heartbeats retreating, the night becoming silent save the trudging of his feet.

"We have all night to hunt," Carlisle replied, pointing at his feet. "Try it."

Edward laughed, the sound bouncing off the trees, a warm sound for a night so dark and cold. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his chuckles muffled by the hand. God, but he was young still, throwing an arm over his stomach and doubling over with laughter. Perfect in adolescence and flawless forever, forever a boy.

Carlisle felt another pang, a tug, a heat in his stomach. To stop the sensation he lay down in the snow, began moving his arms up and down.

"Snow angels!" Edward exclaimed, placing himself next to Carlisle, youthful excitement spreading him across the crunching snow.

Edward's joy spread throughout the trees, lighting the dark space like a flame. Soon Carlisle was warm all over, from the tips of his fingers-high above his head as he made angel's wings-down to the bottoms of his feet. With each upswing of his arms, Carlisle's left hand collided with Edward's right. So often their skin touched that the pleasant feeling in Carlisle's stomach had spread down, down, down, until he felt it in his knees and everywhere in between. He knew the enjoyment he gleaned from the small touch of flesh was unwholesome, but he could not stop, did not want it to stop. Carlisle was certain the grin across his face appeared lurid as he enjoyed Edward's laugh and innocent touch.

Thankfully, Edward stood after only a few moments so he might look upon what he created. Carlisle remained in the snow, begging the sky to release more frozen drops of water so he might cool down.

Still smiling, Edward pointed at Carlisle, surrounded by icy whiteness. "Your hair makes the halo," Edward said. Carlisle closed his eyes, bit his tongue. He wiggled his toes, ensuring he was real, in that position, Edward standing over him as he tried to disappear in the snow. When he opened his eyes again, Edward still stood, smile fading back to a straight line.

Carlisle failed miserably at controlling the parasite within him that wanted Edward in a dark way. Why was it difficult? Why, when he had denied himself blood for centuries, was he having such difficulties denying himself this boy? He gazed at Edward, perhaps too long, the subtle light from the moon and stars making his auburn hair burn even in the soft light, and Carlisle knew he could not will the warmth away.

The sound of leather stretching drew Carlisle's eyes to Edward's hands. The gloves were needless, but Edward wore them anyway. The younger man began pulling the fingers loose on his right hand, placing the middle one between his teeth and smoothly removing the garment. How did Edward know? How did he know Carlisle was aching to see more of his flesh?

Leaning down, slightly, Edward offered Carlisle the hand to help him to his feet. Carlisle took it, Edward's scent of life and torridity and summer invading his head, so much so he felt he basked in the sun. Edward's fingers were radiating warmth against Carlisle's, whose own had been buried clutching snow. They remained hand in hand for many moments, the sounds of the forest coming alive again in their procrastination.

Edward's smile-long gone-had been replaced by something else, something not quite fitting on his boyish features. Carlisle recognized it as an expression he had seen on his own face, countless times since Edward had joined him. Wanting. An eternal sense of wanting.

The thumb on Edward's hand moved against Carlisle where they were joined, slowly, purposefully. The movement was delicate and soft, but Carlisle was aware of it as it sent a flood of emotions through him: need, pain, lust, desire. And guilt. Always the guilt and the shame.

Going to one knee, Edward seemed to be waiting for something. Permission? Denial? Carlisle knew he could not speak either. Edward leaned forward, until he lay in the snow next to Carlisle, his brow furrowed as the gold of his eyes all but disappeared behind the blackness of his pupil.

Carlisle cleared his throat. "Sometimes humans pinch the bridge of their nose when they're disconcerted, as though warding off a headache." The words, meant to be spoken as a deterrent, came out as a whisper.

Edward closed his eyes, pinched the place right between them, chuckled, then frowned again. "Feels unnatural," he said.

"You will grow used to it," Carlisle replied, wishing Edward would open his eyes again and wishing he would never open then again. Edward did the former, giving Carlisle that look again.

_Dear God, please, let him come closer. Please, forgive me, but please, bring him closer, _Carlisle thought, lips parted as the heat within him tried to escape, his breath coming out in hot, sharp pants.

Edward's tongue sneaked out from his pink mouth, and in an innocent way that was immensely sinful, he moved it across his lips, leaving them moist as flower petals on a spring morning. Carlisle groaned and tightly shut his eyes.

"I don't know if God is listening," Edward said, "but I am."

Then Edward pressed his wicked lips against Carlisle's.


	10. The Crown of Life

**Author's note: Thanks to those still reading! I can't express how much it means to me. Thanks to ms. ambrosia, the fantastic hand-holder and beta that she is.**

**The characters, I don't own.**

**Also, you guys, this story has some religious themes and such, because I always figured Carlisle had to be a pretty religious guy and all. This chapter has a lot of thoughts on religion that might not necessarily be mine, so don't get offended, okay? Okay. I don't think there's anything horribly offensive, but just in case… : ) Thanks!**

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Edward read the words on the page over and over, but they were too blurry to see. He wanted to weep; he had never felt so shamed, utterly rejected and unwanted.

"_Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination."_

Could that really be how Carlisle felt about him? Part of Edward thrilled for a moment, thinking maybe Carlisle wanted to "lie" with him, whatever that might entail, before he realized he might simply be the abomination part of the scripture.

Carlisle had desired Edward to come closer; the older vampire's thoughts had never been so unguarded, clear and direct. Practically begging, Carlisle had prayed for it. And no sooner had Edward indulged him, pressed his mouth against Carlisle's unyielding lips, he found himself pushed away. Hands on his shoulders shoving so hard, he was propelled backwards, left watching Carlisle rise and retreat, a disheveled blur.

But the second—less than a second, in actuality—Carlisle had allowed that touch of lips, Edward knew what he was meant to do with eternity.

It had been a few days since the not-quite-kiss and Carlisle had done his best to avoid Edward. When Edward attempted to speak with Carlisle about what had happened, the older man simply advised the younger to read the Bible and pray about it, the word sodomy echoing in his head.

Sodomy? Who had said anything about sodomy? Edward was certain he had heard the word before, but had no clue when or where or what it meant.

So Edward spent days poring over the pages of Carlisle's worn book, careful not to rip the brittle paper. Since becoming immortal, he discovered he could read almost as fast as he could run, comprehend just as swiftly, but he wanted to be sure he understood it all, every bit, as surely as Carlisle did.

Instead of finding answers, Edward found the text more confusing than clarifying. There was much he encountered he had never heard of previously. Although the memories of his human life were blurry, countless moments forgotten, he was certain he had been taught a more edited version of things. There were so many sins he might unknowingly commit, he thought it easier to find a nice corner to curl up in and gather dust for eternity so that he might avoid doing them.

The more he read, the more his shame turned to anger at Carlisle or maybe just the men who wrote the book. Edward struggled to remember the sermons he had endured as a human, tried to recall how he had felt. All he knew was he had unquestioningly followed the example of his parents, had taken the word of God delivered by the minister as law. Never had he had a reason to read the entire Bible, and there was never a time he felt the need to address any conflicts.

He grew exceedingly satisfied he no longer had a soul to save. Edward did not know if it was because he was soulless, or because he no longer had parents leading him, but he felt naive, callow, when it came to his human life.

Edward waited for an overcast day to make a trip to the library. Carlisle asked him where he was going, but Edward declined responding. Once there, he filled his head with as many theological books he could find, ignoring his bloodlust and drowning out internal voices. There were not many variations, considering the small conservative town in which he resided. He grew disheartened, all the texts seeming to say the same thing, offer the same viewpoint.

The word 'homosexual' was mentioned in a few books, and he came to realize that meant men liking men. Confused in the beginning, it took further reading to understand the text meant _like _liking, which led Edward to wondering if he was homosexual. He knew he felt terribly fond of Carlisle and wanted to put his lips against Carlisle's again. Sometimes, when he looked at Carlisle he got a funny feeling in his stomach and thought he might be sick, although Carlisle said he should never get sick again. There were even some nights Carlisle would go to work, and Edward would think about him for hours: his hair, his shoulders, his eyes, the little dip at the base of his throat and under his nose, the sound of his voice, his fingers. One night, Edward pondered the shape of Carlisle's knees-which he saw so infrequently-for ninety-seven minutes.

Edward still had uncertainty about whether or not he was homosexual. It had seemed strange to him before, of that he was certain, but he had never given it much thought as a human, something he would never have to worry about. He decided to worry about it another day.

He found the word 'sodomy' several times, but was no closer to finding out what that meant other than that it was something sexual and it happened to be illegal in Wisconsin, something a man and a man or a woman and a man could do. So, whatever it was, had to be terrible and violent for it to be against the law. The more he thought on it, the more he remembered the word. Attempting to look it up in the dictionary, Edward huffed when he noticed that entire page of the book had been ripped out. Edward walked up to ask the librarian and, at the last minute, thought better of it, although he did make sure to mention the dictionary had been vandalized.

More frustrated than when he entered the library, he left, walking leisurely home. Edward decided to take his time, stop to hunt, therefore avoid seeing Carlisle who would leave for work soon. Also, Carlisle had a dictionary, and Edward wanted to look at it without questions. Why he had not ventured to Carlisle's book collection sooner, he could not decide.

Carlisle was intelligent; Edward could not comprehend why he so thoroughly bought into the dogma set forth for him. The way Carlisle unquestioningly followed the rules was admirable, if not ignorant. The way the Bible said it, there were things even married men and women should not do together, lest they be sinful. It said intercourse was to procreate. Did that mean if Carlisle found a woman, married her, he would not take her to bed? Surely, he would.

Edward knew all about _that _kind of sex. He had been a human male, after all, and his best friend Tommy had explained it to him in crude four letter words when they were fourteen, a memory that would be difficult to purge.

All these questions had Edward missing his mother. Elizabeth had constantly answered Edward's questions with understanding and patience. Edward wondered if these sort of inquiries would have been any different. How he longed for her arms to straighten his jacket, smooth his hair and wrap around him, straightening and squeezing out any worries he might have. Edward never knew he could experience so many different types of heartaches.

A long ago memory began to surface at the thoughts of his mother, and Edward stopped walking, covering and closing his eyes so he could will it into the forefront of his mind by dulling his senses. He was in church, a guest minister standing at the pulpit.

"_...brazenly flaunted...incest...sodomy...greed..."_

_bright lights. sweat on the minister's brow. Mother. pale._

_nods in the congregation. a fan with pretty roses. Tommy snickers._

"_Mother, what is 'sodomy'?"_

"_Shhh, Edward."_

"_Edward," Tommy whispers._

"_What?"_

_Tommy motions. come closer._

"_It's when a man puts his pecker in another man's asshole."_

_wide eyes. stifled giggles._

"_...cast down judgement...Hell's fire...eternity..."_

_roses. white roses. perfume._

It made sense, and Edward could not comprehend why the connection was not made sooner. Edward pinched the bridge of his nose, thought of Carlisle as he did so.

Well, he had not been thinking of sodomy before Carlisle let the word slip, but he certainly was now.

~oOo~

Edward decided to follow Carlisle's lead and not voice whatever feelings he was having. He ached to know how Carlisle truly felt, without the supposed stigma. Feeling lonesome, Edward went about his days spending all the time with Carlisle he could, while keeping a distance large enough to keep the man comfortable.

There did not seem to be a minute in which Carlisle let his guard down. His mind thrummed with inane, harmless thoughts on the weather, current affairs; he hummed and quoted medical books and thought of gangrene and puss and lungs full of fluid and wounds so deep the bone was exposed. From this practice, Edward also learned how to truly tune thoughts out.

Edward's thoughts continually went back to the new words he had learned, and he could not help but wonder how it would feel to have Carlisle inside him. Would it hurt? Could he still feel pain? Would it feel good?

The curiosity had gone so far as to have Edward put a venom-slickened finger inside himself, and he found wiggling it around just right made his toes curl. The sensation was so nice, Edward tried it many times, and attempted not to ponder how all those books and all the people who wrote the book—and evidently Carlisle—said what he was doing was wrong and unclean. Maybe when he was human, those rules would have applied, but not now that he was damned anyway.

Sometimes, when he touched himself in the way that felt so nice, he thought of Carlisle. Carlisle as he read a book, his brow furrowing and smoothing, his nimble fingers turning the pages so quietly they did not even rustle. Carlisle resting his face on his right hand, nibbling on the tip of his pinky finger, puckering his lips as though kissing a phantom lover. Edward visioned those lips, those hands on him, Carlisle's brow furrowed for an altogether different reason. Edward remembered the moan escaping Carlisle on Christmas Eve, just before Edward had kissed him. He remembered it and wanted to hear it again, wanted Carlisle to feel good with him, feel good about being inside him.

Could it really be wrong to love someone enough to want to let them in? If Edward ever thought so, he could not remember.

As more time passed, the snow melted and warmer days began presenting themselves. The sun had been shining for days and Carlisle suggested they start wearing a path with their bicycles. Edward thoroughly agreed.

The bright, baby green peeked through everywhere and the air already smelled of flowers. The day was lovely and Edward was happy to be enjoying it with Carlisle. The two found a large, sloped clearing, grass still short enough to be ridden through easily.

"Race you?" Carlisle suggested to Edward's surprise.

"It's not much of a race when one of the competitors is ancient!" Edward joked and took off. He heard Carlisle let out a boisterous laugh before following, the sound of the spokes hastily catching up to him.

Edward pushed the pedals until he smelled heated metal, then he pushed harder. The trees flew by in blotches of green and brown, the wind ferociously yelling in his ears. Yes, he wanted to win, but Edward had discovered he was somewhat addicted to speed. Just when the joy of flying made him laugh, Edward's bicycle fell apart under him. He was promptly propelled across the ground and collided with a tree, a crack rivaling thunder rending the air.

Carlisle stopped, ahead of where Edward's bicycle crumbled, leaving a deep rivet in the ground. In a flash, he was at Edward's side, helping him up and dusting him off. Chuckling, Carlisle said, "I win."

Although he hated to admit it, Edward had been a bit frightened by the fall, but Carlisle's smirk aided in calming yet added to the adrenaline pumping through him.

"I think it was a forfeit," Edward managed to reply.

Carlisle put a hand over his heart, laughed and smiled wider. "I almost forgot you were immortal for a moment."

"Me too," Edward replied. "You were worried?"

"Of course, Edward." Carlisle's thoughts flashed to human Edward in a hospital bed, eyes watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, distress prevalent in the memories. Carlisle cleared his throat. "I am a doctor, after all. It's, uh, my job to worry."

Edward sighed. "That is true," he conceded.

"You are an absolute mess," Carlisle laughed. "There's a stream close by." Edward looked down at his ripped clothing, grass stains and dirt all over his arms. "You should see your face. If you were human you would not have one anymore."

They found the small stream, and Edward pulled his tattered shirt over his head. Carlisle turned away and Edward felt like rolling his eyes. He began busying himself with rinsing most of the dirt from his top and using it to clean his face.

"Carlisle?"

The older man did not turn around, hummed in response. "Hmm?"

"Why, um, wouldn't you, uh, kiss me back?" Edward concentrated on what his hands were doing, counting rocks in the creek bed, anything to keep from getting too involved in Carlisle's answer.

"Edward." Carlisle paused, took a deep breath. "The way you think you feel about me. It's unnatural."

"The way I _think _I feel?"

"Yes. This," Edward looked over his shoulder at Carlisle's back and saw him gesturing towards himself, "is not who we are. This flesh, this parasite within us, is weak."

"I read the Bible," Edward replied.

"And?"

"It doesn't say anything about vampires."

Carlisle stifled a laugh and put a hand over his face, turned around. "We're still His children and should try our best to follow His rules."

"You think so?" Somehow, Carlisle had not noticed Edward's sarcasm, or chose to ignore it.

"I do."

"So you think it's no problem for a husband to beat his wife and children if they disobey? Slavery should be fine? And maybe when you have a problem with someone, kill them? Sacrifice children and animals and whatever else you feel led by 'Him' to do?"

Carlisle removed his hand, looked at Edward with slanted eyes. He took a few steps closer to Edward, who had turned around fully and crouched by the stream. Edward almost wished he could take his words back; Carlisle was angry and the scent rolling off of him so unfamiliar that Edward shuddered.

But, God, he was stunning in his anger, nostrils flared, the sunshine lighting him up like a beacon, and Edward felt himself drawn to him even more, an insect willingly throwing itself into a fire.

"Those situations are taken out of context. You are smart enough to know that," Carlisle said, seething, an enraged quiet surrounding him like the eye of a tornado.

Edward stood to match Carlisle and said, "And you are smart enough not to believe everything you read."

Carlisle's anger seemed to fade as quickly as it had come on. "Edward, I want you to look to me as a father. I want to guide you. I want you to live and be happy—"

"You make me happy. You could make me completely happy by—"

"Not like that, Edward." Carlisle contemplated his feet for long moments before looking at Edward again. His expression went sad, the lines next to his down-turned mouth making him look older than his twenty-three human years.

"This is ridiculous. What if it's all wrong, Carlisle?" Edward said, his heart crumpling like a piece of discarded paper.

Carlisle said nothing more, but brought the knuckle of his index finger to Edward's jaw, tracing the line of it so lightly, Edward might have mistaken it for the flutter of insect wings, the wind. He froze, closed his eyes, desperate not to frighten the skittish creature Carlisle was. Edward waited with the patience of stone, willing to stand forever if it meant being touched, molded in even the tiniest way.

Hesitantly, Carlisle extended his fingers and brushed them across Edward's nose and cheeks. He whispered, "You used to have freckles here."

Then, he was gone.

~oOo~

When Edward got home, Carlisle was shut in his office, reading. As he entered, he barely caught the image of himself, bare-chested and shining in the woods, everything about him glowing, including small patches of pink on his cheeks. He could not believe in reality he was that striking.

_"Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him."_

_Why do I want Heaven so much?_

Edward heard the pages flipping, so unlike Carlisle.

_"Flee fornication. Every sin that a man doeth is without the body; but he that committeth fornication sinneth against his own body."_

_I can live forever on Earth, can I not?_

More pages were turned, a book being slammed shut, opened again.

_"Don't lust for their beauty. Don't let their coyness seduce you. For a prostitute will bring a man to poverty, and an adulteress may cost him his very life."_

_But that's not Edward. Is that Edward? Is this simply lust? Why do I crave his company, his voice, his thoughts, his music? All of it. All of him._

"Oh, God," Carlisle murmurs.

"_Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man: But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed."_

"I cannot. I cannot. I cannot."

Edward wondered what Carlisle could not do and, as quietly as possible, went to his room upstairs.

_Is he right? What if he's right? God, help me, if he's right._

The breaths Carlisle took were quick and loud; Edward heard them even through the floor separating them. Feeling guilty, Edward thought about going back downstairs, knocking on Carlisle's door and apologizing. He could not make himself take his words back though.

In that moment, the one Edward contemplated asking forgiveness, asking Carlisle to forget what he said, the images in Carlisle's head changed back to the way Edward looked by the stream, his chest, his skin, his taut abdomen and pert nipples. Edward watched, enthralled, as Carlisle imagined reaching out and, instead of touching Edward's face, he ran his fingertips down Edward's exposed torso before grabbing his hips and pulling him close.

Edward glanced to his left and right, wondering if somehow Carlisle had missed him coming inside and did not know Edward saw every bit of what was going on in his sire's head. He had to. Pondering leaving, allowing Carlisle his private thoughts, Edward witnessed Carlisle's meanderings turning even more interesting as one hand disappeared into Edward's copper hair and held tight.

Closing his eyes, Edward saw Carlisle use a handful of his hair to bend his head back, lustfully gaze at the column of his throat before devouring it like he could swallow Edward whole. The imagined-Carlisle groaned as the flavor of Edward's sweetened skin filled his mouth; the real Carlisle made a quiet mewling sound, a defeated sound.

Edward heard a shifting from the floor below, the rattle of a buckle. He opened his eyes wide, desire flooding him when he understood what Carlisle was doing. Without thought, he found himself in the floor, flat on his stomach, an ear and hand on the wood as though he could touch the man underneath.

The thought-Carlisle moved his sinful lips to Edward's ear. "How could I not want you?" he whispered, the heat of his words warming Edward's face even in imaginings. Then his mouth moved to Edward's, hesitating, lips open, brushing against Edward's trembling lips. Several moments he stayed there, until Edward took the initiative.

The kiss Edward delivered in Carlisle's musings was profane and beautiful, shattering and completing. Carlisle returned it whole-heartedly, taking the younger man's lower lip between his. When Carlisle's tongue found its way into Edward's mouth, he heard a quartet of satisfied moans, echoing in his head and in his ears.

Edward had yet to realize he was moving his hips against the cold floor, moving in time with Carlisle's hand mere feet below him. Maybe he could melt himself to liquid and sneak through the cracks in the floor, turn himself into seven notes of music and be in Carlisle's presence unnoticed. Closer, he needed to be closer. His true desire would be to get up, go downstairs and aid Carlisle along, but something about the moment made him fearful there was a spell which would be broken did he physically leave his room.

Below him, Carlisle writhed in his desk chair, his hand full of himself as the thoughts of Edward, now removing Carlisle's trousers, spurred him forward. He pulled Edward to the ground, eagerly wrapped his arms around the younger man, making sure he felt every inch of the boy crushing him to the forest floor in his mind. Carlisle, trousers sloppily pushed to his thighs, shoved Edward's down as well and cried out with satisfaction as he thrust his length against Edward's. The heat was everywhere, not a bit of his flesh left untouched by it.

The sound of skin on skin from downstairs had Edward so thoroughly in the moment, he was sure it was real; the cold, hard floor beneath him could be Carlisle, the soft static of Carlisle's movements could be the sound of his flesh against the other man's flesh.

The sensation coiled in his groin, an infusion of images and words and noises so fair, they brought Edward to a higher point than he had ever known. Something was happening, and Edward feared it as much as he welcomed it. He was falling apart and coming together and falling apart again.

Carlisle uttering his name out loud was what flung him from the precipice he teetered upon, and everything he had ever been was blurred out by what he felt.

Then he was coming, for ages, he was coming as Carlisle whispered his name over and over and over again.

As the elation ebbed away, Edward heard Carlisle begging for forgiveness, and Edward's heartache doubled, because he had seen fragments of a passion that would never be realized.


	11. For All Have Sinned

**Author's Note: Thanks again for reading. I have mushy love feelings for all of you. I also love my beta, ms. ambrosia. She gets lots of thanks for reading this stuff first and being more awesome than Belgian Waffles.**

**Disclaimer: I own these characters not.**

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_For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. _The Bible, Romans 3:23

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Summer was winding down in Ashland, and Carlisle perched in a tree like a raptor, eyes and ears keen as he sought out his next meal. He had ventured out alone, again, an occurrence becoming more and more common, although it saddened him greatly.

How could he blame Edward? He could not, only blamed himself. If Edward's heart was broken, Carlisle's had been shattered, decimated, obliviated. Never had he been so aware of the emptiness within his breast, an emptiness so alive, he choked on it.

Avoidance provided no solution, never would, not really. Carlisle was well aware it happened to be his beliefs, his God, keeping him unhappy. He felt resentment stirring in his soul and prayed it be removed a thousand times a day. His faith, his constant companion for centuries, had been trying to scurry away from him.

A movement in the underbrush and a scent on the breeze had Carlisle off his perch in a second, and before a moment passed, the blood of a deer filled his mouth, eased his ache but only for the short moments before it was drained.

Gorging himself seemed to be the only thing to help stave off his disgusting lust for his ward, although that only went so far. The discovery that filling himself to bursting aided in calming his other excitements only further cemented the idea his bloodlust and his untoward desires were one in the same: a symptom of his vampirism.

Carlisle loathed himself for letting his guard down so thoroughly. Yes, he had been well aware Edward had come home the day of their last argument;he found himself aware of every one of Edward's movements since the disgusting want for the boy had reared its head. Although he wished it were not true, he had known Edward was nearby the two other times it had happened since. As he thought of it, he scoffed aloud at his own sinful nature, the thoughts he broadcast as some kind of perverted show for the boy.

Exercising more control in the last months, he had begun satisfying his lust on the way home from work. And sometimes on his meal breaks. Sometimes as soon as he left the house on his way to the hospital. Each time, he thought of Edward. Edward on his knees, Edward-naked-tangled up in Carlisle's arms, Edward's lips, Edward's throat, Edward's fingers. God help him, he thought of Edward's cock, as well. He thought of how it might feel in his hand, against his lips, against his own. But never did he allow himself to visualize the act itself. That was a point, Carlisle felt, he could never come back from.

Carlisle found himself excited again, as though he had no control over his impulses anymore, even though he had seconds before fed. Instead of giving into it, as he has done countless times over the last months, he resolved to find something else to gorge himself on. So, he found another animal, drained it and another and another, until he felt full to bursting.

_Lust and gluttony, _he thought, _I am not doing so well today._

Carlisle prayed and begged, as he always did, for this lustful want to be removed from him. He begged for a solution, for forgiveness. Every time he brought himself such pleasure with his thoughts, his hand, Carlisle felt rapturous and complete and right and good, until the feelings hid away under God's scrutiny. And each time, he wanted to promise he would never do it again, but he did not wish to make a liar of himself as well.

His own words echoed in his head, from a time that seemed another life.

"_But you say that humans can be redeemed even though they sin, so why not take what your body wants and ask forgiveness later?"_

"_Asking for forgiveness means you have no intentions of committing that sin again, Edward. We are already at a disadvantage. Why bury yourself any deeper in monstrosity? By holding onto our humanity, we hold onto our souls."_

Well Carlisle was definitely acting human now.

Thinking of the past brought Carlisle to thinking of Edward again, of how smart the boy was, how he constantly seemed prepared to debate with Carlisle. The older vampire began thinking of the shape of Edward's mouth when he said the word "redeemed" and the ache began to grow anew.

Carlisle thought he could fit in at least one more deer before heading home.

~oOo~

Edward started school in Autumn, just as had been planned the previous winter. Some of his classes were during the morning and afternoon, which provided a challenge, but Edward had an excuse from his doctor stating he had a medical condition keeping him home from time to time.

The Spring and Summer had seen Edward sullen and quiet, so Carlisle was thrilled to see the life reenter him as he began his schooling. When he received his new books, he laughed as a child might with new toys, and wasted no time before cracking them open, losing himself in the knowledge he found inside. After having read them all, Carlisle even caught him reading them backwards, his fondness growing with Edward's vigor.

Things seemed almost the way they should be-Carlisle being Edward's proud sire, Edward stretching his intellect.

They both knew the turmoil underneath, still threatening.

Edward continued to look at Carlisle as though waiting on something, any indication his affections were returned. He knew Carlisle desired him; hiding that would be an impossibility. The boy could never know, however, how close Carlisle was to taking every bit of him-his body, his mind, his words, his thoughts. Carlisle wanted to open him up, know all of him intimately. He wanted to be so close their two bodies would be indistinguishable as separate. Something had to give; they were two forces with unstoppable momentum, hurtling towards each other with nothing in between to hamper the destruction that would follow.

The day everything changed was a Friday, and Edward had an evening class. Carlisle left for work before Edward got home.

Nights at the hospital were generally slow, until they were not. Carlisle had been there almost two hours when he heard a commotion. He made his way into the reception area, and there he saw a large gentleman placing a limp woman onto a gurney, nurses rushing over. Carlisle approached the scene, something familiar about the woman's caramel colored hair.

"What's going on?" Carlisle asked the man.

The man shrugged, "I don't know, Doc. I was in the woods below Dead Man's bluff doing some hunting and I heard a thud. She didn't even scream as she was falling. She must've jumped. Surely, she's dead, but I couldn't just leave her there."

Carlisle listened as he checked the woman, so many broken bones and internal injuries there was no way she could survive. "Who is she?" Carlisle asked.

"Never seen her before."

Then Carlisle looked at her face and everything stopped: the bustle around him, the voice of the man talking about suicide, his own falsified breathing.

The girl-woman, now-was Esme. Esme Platt from all those years before.

Her heart struggled to beat, but only just, and Carlisle knew this was the face of his salvation.

~oOo~

Carlisle had met Esme ten years prior in Columbus, Ohio, had patched up her broken leg. She had been so beautiful and happy, young and carefree. What could have caused her to try and take her own life?

He remembered her, of course he did; she had made an impression. Never had he wanted to linger somewhere, to know a human's intricacies the way he had then, that was, until Edward.

Carlisle was certain, after meeting Edward, there was no room for anyone else in his heart, but in that moment, the moment where Esme's life hung in the balance, he felt the useless thing stretch and grow and he loved her. Right away, he loved her. Surely, she had been sent and approved by God, given to Carlisle as a way to save himself. She would save them both, Edward _and_ Carlisle.

He only had a moment to decide how to act.

"She's dead. Take her to the morgue. I'll call the undertaker."

~oOo~

Carlisle feigned illness after Esme had been wheeled away, after he had a one way conversation on the telephone. He waited as long as his impatience would let him before going to the morgue and finding her. Taking only a moment to gaze at her lovely face, troubled and bruised, he bundled her close, so near to death she made no sound.

Again, he felt like a thief as he hurried off into the night, the déjà vu falling over him like warm rain. Not so long ago, he held Edward to his heart in this way, racing to save him. Carlisle felt a dampening to his elation when he thought of Edward; he knew the boy would be none too happy to begin with. But he would have to understand. Surely, as time passed, he would understand.

Esme could be the mother Edward needed, the wife Carlisle craved. Her companionship would ease the ache, the unholy need Carlisle had for Edward. It had to. It would. God had not forgotten him.

"What are you doing?" Edward said, opening the door before Carlisle had barely entered the yard. "I heard you coming miles away."

Carlisle ignored him for the moment and rushed past him, taking Esme to Edward's room and placing her on the bed. Edward was right behind him.

"Stop, Carlisle," Edward said, moving to to place a hand on Carlisle's shoulder. "There's no reason for this. Do not. No matter what you believe, changing her will not resolve anything between us."

Hovering over Esme, Carlisle opened his mouth, brought his lips to Esme's throat, the slow yet steady beat of her heart urging him to bite. The fact she had held on this long only cemented the idea this were fated for Carlisle.

"Please," Edward begged. "Look at me."

Carlisle could not, would not look at Edward lest he lose his nerve to follow through.

"She wanted to die. She's wondering now why she's not dead. She is hurting so much, Carlisle." Edward paused, squeezed Carlisle's arm. "Let her go. Her baby died. She does not want life, let alone an eternal one."

Carlisle covered Edward's hand with his own, squeezed closed his eyes. _Give me strength. _

Instead of Edward's words hindering him, he was only propelled by them. Edward could be that son she lost; he needed her as much as Carlisle did.

"Well," Carlisle started, "we shall make sure her joy in immortality overshadows the sorrows of her human life."

Without further delay, Carlisle penetrated Esme's throat and wrists, putting something in motion he could never take back.

~oOo~

Carlisle sat with Esme, silent and unmoving, for hours. He would have stayed longer, but he needed to find Edward. He did not have to look far.

Edward was huddled on the back porch, curled up in a blanket as though he were cold, eyes turned towards the stars.

"What are you doing out here?" Carlisle asked, closing the patio door behind him. Edward did not look away from the sky.

"All her thoughts are giving me a headache," Edward replied, scrunching up his nose.

"Edward, I know you're confused-"

"What about school?" Edward interrupted. "I've only just started and now we'll have to leave."

Carlisle sighed, felt guilty, because it was true. "Maybe not, Edward. Maybe we can stay here."

"How will you explain a missing body?"

"No one knew who she was."

"She's a teacher, Carlisle. There are people who will miss her come Monday."

Finally, Edward looked at Carlisle, Carlisle wishing he had continued looking out into the night. The pain behind Edward's eyes was so sharp, Carlisle felt his face sting. Edward looked at the stars again.

"Did you know the stars in the sky are just old light? Many of the lights we see came from stars which are already dead. Sometimes it takes years and years for the light to get here." Edward glanced Carlisle's way again, waiting on an answer.

Carlisle nodded. "I think I knew that."

"So, the sky is full of ghosts. And they are beautiful. Are they not?"

Carlisle nodded again, the grief in the air robbing him of his voice.

"Death can be beautiful. A release. Freedom. Right, Carlisle?"

"Edward-"

"Why did you do it?" Edward's voice broke and so did the gaze he held Carlisle under. He stood and walked to the railing of the porch, pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Carlisle noticed him shaking.

"I did it for us, Edward. Whatever is happening between us...it's wrong. It's wrong and I can't let it go on. She would make us a family."

Edward laughed, humorless, wicked. "A _family. _Come on, Carlisle. How odd was your family for you to think I could ever look at you as my _father._"

Carlisle shrugged off the jab. "It's not too late for us to have the relationship we should-"

"Carlisle, why won't you love me?" He pinched his nose, between his eyes, the corners of his mouth trembling. "Tell me. Out loud. I've read it in your thoughts. You think I don't know?"

"Edward-"

The boy turned around, attempted to glare but the effect was lost. "What do you want with her you cannot have with me?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Tell me."

"I want a wife. I want a union blessed by God," Carlisle mumbled. He did not want to feel ridiculous in his beliefs, but under Edward's scrutiny, he felt endlessly ashamed.

"Love?" Edward asked.

"What of love?" Carlisle ran a hand through his hair, sensing the conversation headed where it needed not to go.

"Do you love her?"

"Yes," Carlisle answered truthfully. He opened his mind, let Edward see the sixteen-year-old Esme Carlisle had treated. Yes, he loved her.

"Do you love me?"

"Edward-"

"Why will you not tell me out loud what I long to hear?" Edward nearly shouted. "Everything I've done since becoming this, this..._thing _is try to gain your approval, to be worthy of you. I have done _everything _humanly possible, _inhumanly _possible. But I can never be a girl, can I?"

"Goddamnit, Edward, stop talking." Indoors, Esme screamed. Carlisle sat on a chair, the metal cool against his thighs. He took a deep breath. "I do love you, Edward. There's no sense in denying that. I love you. I love you, I love you, IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou." He stopped again, a desolate sound unfurling from his mouth, something like a sob, something like choking. "I love you like a man should love a woman, but I would not want you any other way, despite what you might think."

It was true; Carlisle would not have Edward without the straight lines of his hips, the firmness of his chest, the squareness of his jaw or the strength of his hands. Part of what Carlisle loved was the masculine part of Edward, the stubborn, firm and unyielding nature of him.

"Carlisle, I-"

"But, the truth, Edward...the truth is, I should not want you the way I do. With you, I am certain I could live happily. To kiss your mouth, have you in a bed we could share, count your fingers and toes with my lips, to remember you are mine, only mine..." Carlisle folded his hands over his middle, pursed his lips, the words spoken aloud bringing them so close to reality he felt sick. "And then, when I die, or the world ends, I would spend an eternity in Hell, without you. Without you, Edward. I can't risk it. I cannot. I simply cannot."

"I want what you want, Carlisle. I love you too. Don't you know how wonderful it would be?" Edward sounded hopeful and Carlisle felt sicker. "God loves us, right? Wants us to be happy?"

"It's not that simple, Edward. I have done you wrong. I should not have allowed...we should not let this conversation go on any further. We cannot be."

Carlisle turned from Edward, intending to go back to Esme, instead Edward grabbed him with both hands and kissed him.

Knowing he should push him away, Carlisle could not will himself to do it. _Just this once, _he thought.

And he used this sin to his full advantage, exploring Edward's mouth, wrapping his arms around the shoulders just bordering on manhood. Carlisle wanted to touch each of Edward's teeth with his tongue, so he did. He wondered only briefly why Edward had twenty-seven teeth instead of the more normal twenty-eight.

Carlisle thought nothing would ever taste as sweet against his lips as Edward's smile, though it be a momentary satisfaction. The kiss was hello and goodbye and all the pain between, a culmination of years of wanting and secret looks and hurt and denial.

Edward's fingers were in Carlisle's hair, running over his scalp, down his neck, his spine, squeezing his hips. The angry ache in Edward seemed to incinerate in the burgeoning heat of their kiss and he made a sound through his nose, a laugh or a soft cry, Carlisle was not sure.

Finding it within himself to slow things down, Carlisle separated their lips, Edward's breath fanning across his face, his want continuing to flare. Carlisle kissed his mouth again, once, twice, then the corners, once, twice, finishing with a lingering kiss on his throat, just under his ear.

"That will have to be enough, Edward," Carlisle breathed, backing away.

"Enough for now?" Edward asked, the truth finding its way into his mind, coloring his voice, marring his beautiful smile.

"Enough for forever."

Carlisle went inside as Esme screamed again.


	12. Sorrow of the World

_****_**Author's note: Thanks to ms. ambrosia! If I ever win a year's supply of nutella, I'm giving half to her. Sorry for the delay. I had issues with my computer, but the good news is I continued writing on paper and the next chap should be done very soon! Thanks for reading. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make absolutely no profit from this. Blah.**

* * *

_For godly sorrow produces repentance leading to salvation, not to be regretted; but the sorrow of the world produces death. _The Bible, 2 Corinthians 7:10

* * *

Edward wanted to hate Esme.

In the beginning, it was simple. The pain of her transformation, the leftover thoughts from her human life made his brain feel as though it might collapse upon itself. And then, when she awoke, her immediate remembrance of Carlisle made him ill. The way she looked at him -and he at her- had Edward fleeing the house, running until he no longer recognized his surroundings.

That was the first of many times he contemplated leaving and never returning. Once, he flew away for two and a half days until the ache in his chest grew into a hopeless lacuna, impassable and unmendable until he saw Carlisle again.

But seeing him meant seeing her, and Edward was unsure which was worse - the heartache or the emptiness. He walked softly around the couple, each step he took seeming as though it might break him. He was a house of cards, the petals of a wilted flower, old and brittle bones. He would endure it as long as possible.

Edward would endure because there were days Carlisle was so happy, his laughter drifting under the crack of Edward's closed door. Edward felt such a strange contrast of emotions in those moments, a circle of light in an otherwise dark room. Without the blackness, the light would never be as bright, or as needed.

Once Esme had awakened to this new life, the trio made their way to a small, remote cabin in upstate Michigan. It was far enough away from civilization to keep Esme contained, yet close enough Edward could pick up his studies, although he did not return until a new semester started. Those few months before school were the worst.

Carlisle and Esme. Esme and Carlisle. Each day brought new revelations. Esme had thought of Carlisle often. Carlisle had been fond of Esme from the moment he saw her. They both had issues with their fathers. Carlisle's favorite color was green; so was Esme's. They both were enraged at Esme's (death did part them) ex-husband, who beat her mercilessly (this was a hatred eventually shared by Edward). The couple loved Schubert and asked Edward to play him often.

At times, Edward felt like a performing dog, Carlisle always asking things of him. "Play that piece for Esme, Edward" or "Recite for Esme some poems from the book you read" or "Show Esme how fast you can run." He resented it and loved it, Carlisle's thoughts prideful of his would-be son. Edward wanted the affection without taking on the role of Carlisle's child. How could he ever? Not when he continued to long for Carlisle so.

Edward kept his thoughts to himself, his fingers aching to move across Carlisle's body, palms itching to be filled with the smoothness of his hair. He held out hope; constantly, he hoped Carlisle would come to his senses. He tried not to think of Esme, her broken heart, her kindness or looks of concern. She was a manipulator, a usurper of his proper place.

Carlisle's thoughts, he could never tune out. Each time thoughts of Edward would swell and threaten to overtake Carlisle's mind, he used Esme as a way to tamp them down. He would think of her hair, her lips, her sweet womanly voice, and be calmed. Edward resented her more for it.

Esme had left her husband in Columbus upon discovering she was pregnant. Her family had encouraged her to suffer the beatings in silence, and she had been reluctantly willing to do this, until she realized what grew in her womb. A child, she would protect at all costs. A child, she would flee for. The rest goes without saying; her child died a few days after birth and so did Esme.

The first day Edward went to school was freezing. It was January of 1922, and Edward pondered why he even bothered returning to his studies. _Because he wanted to please Carlisle_. Still, even though he had been rejected time and time again, the gratification in Carlisle's words and thoughts brought Edward solace. Those moments, when Carlisle patted him on the back, smiled at him, were enough to keep him existing, so he would continue to do things to please Carlisle.

These were the thoughts in his head as he got ready, nothing of Esme or the weather. He was securing his satchel, making sure it deemed suitable for the high speed at which he would run, when Esme approached him from behind, touched his shoulder. They had not spoken to each other outside of necessity in the months since her change, and Edward turned, glancing at her with a quizzical expression.

Under her arm, she clutched Edward's jacket, her fingers twisting in the fabric with worry. "You forgot your coat," Esme whispered, a frail smile curling the corners of her mouth. Her eyes glowed red and Edward noted how even with the devil's eyes, Esme's expression was sweet and earnest, as were her thoughts.

Part of him thought of jerking it away; he hated her, did he not? Instead he took it gently. "I don't really get cold, but thank you. People might notice were I not wearing one," he said, forcing a smile and nodding. He slid his arms into the sleeves and began to bend over to retrieve his belongings. Esme stopped him again. Again he gave her an odd look.

Coming closer, Esme straightened Edward's collar and smoothed it out. She smartly tugged on the bottom, ridding the garment of excess wrinkles. Then, she looked at Edward's face. Tentatively, she reached out her hand and tamed some of Edward's wild hair. A genuine grin spread apart her lips, leaving her a wide mouthed smile.

A warming entered Edward's heart, a tug on its strings. It seemed to have been centuries since someone had done these simple things for him.

_You look handsome, _Esme thought.

Edward returned her smile.

~oOo~

Edward knew Carlisle was there before he saw him. He found him soon thereafter.

"You left Esme on her own?"

"It has been eight months now, and she promised not to leave home," Carlisle replied, smiling.

Edward adjusted his bag on his shoulder, shuffled his feet. The two had no time without Esme since her changing. He looked over his shoulder as some of his classmates shuffled by, nodded his head in their direction.

"Friends?"

"You're my only friend, Carlisle." Edward began walking, Carlisle hurried to follow.

"You should try to make some. Friends, I mean." He had fallen in stride with Edward, looking in his direction, but Edward was unwilling to meet his glance.

"What good would it do?" Edward asked, not unkindly. Carlisle hummed in response and Edward continued. "Look, did you need something?"

The older man frowned. "I simply thought... You see it has been a long while since we... Was there anything _you _wanted... Well, I have yet to see your campus."

Edward laughed at Carlisle's bumbling. "Let me show you around then."

"Esme is doing rather well, don't you think?" Carlisle asked, following Edward as he led Carlisle around the old buildings.

Edward turned his face to hide his scowl. "Yes," he replied.

"I think I'll begin looking for work soon."

The scowl turned into a smile; Carlisle had been much more reluctant to leave Edward, had been willing to stay with him even longer than a year if Edward had wished it. Edward took this as a private triumph, however small. He finally looked at Carlisle, full in the face. "I think that is an excellent idea."

~oOo~

Summer brought extreme humidity and Edward had to tune his piano often. He had just begun playing after a recent tuning when Esme entered his room.

"That one is my favorite," she said, sitting silently on Edward's bed.

"Really?" Edward asked. "I wrote it myself."

"No? That's amazing, Edward. You are so bright. I could never imagine writing something brilliant." She stood and walked behind Edward, put her hands on his shoulders. The added weight was comforting, which Edward hated to admit. Touches were so rare in those days.

"You are simply trying to flatter me," Edward replied, picking up where he left off.

"Of course, I am. Flattery you deserve."

Searching her thoughts, Edward tried to find the lie, tried to find a reason to scorn her for such a compliment. There was only sincerity and openness, warmth and fondness. How could _she _be fond of _him?_

"Maybe I should refer to it as _Esme's Favorite, _from now on then," Edward answered.

Esme patted his shoulder and laughed. "I would be honored."

~oOo~

Edward's textbooks were in Carlisle's study. Classes would not start for another month, but he wanted to look them over. The problem was, Carlisle and Esme were in there, and their joy in each other generally shoved Edward from a room.

The resentment and vehemence began to bubble up again; all he wanted were his books. Why did they have to occupy a space so thoroughly? Edward stood at the door for near an hour, each laugh, whisper and thought searing him, branding him with unwanted scars. But then there was also the beautiful sound of Carlisle's laugh, the lovely shade of green in his mind when he smiled. That, too, kept Edward rooted in the spot.

He could not withstand the push and pull, the light and dark anymore so he kicked the door instead of knocking.

"Come in," Esme said, her voice breathy in mid-laugh.

When Edward walked through the door, he was unprepared for what he saw. Esme's feet in Carlisle's lap as he happily tickled her toes. Both so happy and in love Edward almost turned around. But they were _his _books, and he was going to get them. He was not there to break up a loving moment, to break the duo apart, he simply wanted _his _books. At least that is what he told himself, over and over. Edward wondered if vampires were even ticklish.

Finding his books, he impolitely shoved behind Esme and Carlisle to reach them. "Could you move?" he hissed, and they quickly got out of his way.

"Are you all right?" Carlisle asked, brow furrowed in question.

"That's a stupid question," Edward replied. "I only wanted my books. I didn't come in here to see you two."

"Nobody asked why you-" Esme started.

"I'm going now," Edward interrupted. "Here are my books." He held them high, waved one around in the air. "The reason I came in here."

Carlisle frowned and covered his face, Edward suddenly feeling like the child _they _would have him be. He saw the worried expression on Esme's face and brought the books to his chest, willing them to hold together the pieces of his heart.

Lips in a straight line, he apologized and left the room.

~oOo~

"Edward, are you horribly unhappy?" Carlisle asked. He and Edward were out hunting, alone for a change.

Edward thought it over, bathing in the worrisome thoughts from Carlisle. Yes, he was horribly unhappy, but the desire to be with Carlisle, even in a limited way, kept him tied to wherever the older man was. And, if Edward himself could not be happy, he wanted Carlisle to be, and he wanted to be witness to it. So he lied and answered, "No."

"I took Esme to town while you were at school," he said.

"And how did that go? I'm assuming well, since we're still here."

"Very well. We did not linger long, as she was getting uncomfortable, but we bought her a new dress."

Edward's head snapped in Carlisle's direction. "What for?"

Carlisle laughed. "Nothing special, Edward. All the clothes she has have been chosen by either me or you, and I hate to say it, but we do not have the best sense of lady's fashion."

Breathing out slowly, Edward nodded. For a moment, a dreadful moment, he feared a dress made of white had been purchased. Although he expected it, he was no eager for the expectation to be brought into reality.

They hunted, Edward taking much aggression out on his prey. By the time they finished, his clothes were in tatters, Edward having taken much relief in an altercation with a mountain lion. There were several quiet moments as the two made their way back home, a few among many awkward silences they would share.

"Do you still love me?" Edward asked. Over a year had passed since Esme's transition, since those words were spoken by Carlisle, since Edward last knew Carlisle's lips.

Carlisle sighed. "Did I not tell you how proud I was of your perfect scores last semester?"

"Yes, you did," Edward answered.

"And did I not ask you to play all those compositions for Esme?"

"You did."

"And did I not ask you to show Esme how fast you could run? How well you could recite words from books you read ages before? Did I not comment on how smart you looked in a white coat?"

The confusion grew in Edward. What did those things have to do with the question he had asked Carlisle. "I don't understand."

"Esme loves you, you know. She speaks of you often. You probably know that," Carlisle replied, skirting the original question easily, as though his answers were prepared.

"But I did not ask if Esme loved me." Edward thought it a simple question. A yes or no answer. It would change nothing, regardless.

_I'm convinced everyone who has ever known you, Edward, has loved you. I am no different._

Edward took Carlisle's thought as the most direct answer he would receive.

~oOo~

The eve of a new year was upon them, and Edward came home to whispered words, hampered thoughts. Esme embraced him as soon as he came in the door. She gave Carlisle a long look, touched his face and left, her thoughts full of adoration and love. The door closed behind her with an ominous click. The silence following it was thick.

"We need to talk, Edward." Carlisle paused, his lips moving as he counted. He was waiting on Esme to be out of hearing range.

"What is it?" The world seemed to blur around the edges; Edward expected his traitorous heart to strangle him as it worked its way into his throat. He waited on the quickening pulse which would never come.

This was the moment then. The day his hopes were to be dashed as a rowboat in a sea of boulders.

Carlisle swallowed, shifted to the right. He ran a hand through his hair, put it in his pocket.

_Come sit down, _he thought.

"Just say it already," Edward said. The words were not angry, no intensity behind them. Defeat was the only inflection resonating about the room.

"I have asked Esme to marry me," Carlisle said, a sidelong glance in Edward's direction, waiting on him to crumble.

"Did she say yes?" Edward asked.

"She wanted me to think it over." Carlisle snorted. "And it was _I_ who asked _her_."

"Does she know?"

"Know what, Edward?" Carlisle asked, taking a seat in the living room, Edward following but staying on his feet.

"About us? The way you feel, or felt, about me?"

"Yes. I told her months ago." Edward came closer and rifled through Carlisle's mind, searched his golden eyes and knew what he said was truth.

"And she is fine with that?" Eerily calm, Edward continued holding the gaze with Carlisle, realizing this was the longest they had maintained eye contact in well over a year.

"Not fine with it, Edward. She loves me despite it. And you."

The scoff threatening to escape Edward was forgotten when Carlisle's thoughts turned to regret. Regret at how he had handled things. Regret over his faith, his decision. Edward wanted Carlisle to regret nothing. He needed Carlisle to be satisfied, content with the path he had chosen, and he knew Carlisle would never be content with him.

Carlisle's elbows were on his knees, his face resting in his cupped hands. Edward pulled the tie in Carlisle's hair, letting it fall around his face, across his shoulders. He ran his fingers through the loose strands, pulled them out long until they fell away from his hand, his hope let loose with them. The moment was agonizing, because when would Edward be allowed to feel this again? Carlisle's love, his skin, his hair? Again, he ran the tips of his fingers across Carlisle's scalp, ran his hand through the honey-gold strands, watching as it smoothed across his flawless palm.

Edward decided to give Carlisle what he craved from Edward in that moment: his blessing.

"Are you really going to attend your own wedding with this out-of-date hairstyle?"


	13. Sweetest Downfall

_****_**Author's note: Thanks to ms. ambrosia, who read this even though she feels icky. You guys know that song "Samson" by Regina Spektor? If not, you should, because it's beautiful and inspired much of this story (not to mention this chapter title). You who are still reading are lovers of the angst and I love you for it.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own. Boo hoo.**

* * *

_After putting him to sleep on her lap, she called for someone to shave off the seven braids of his hair, and so began to subdue him.__And his strength left him. _The Bible, Judges 16:19

* * *

Carlisle chuckled. "Is that what you worry over? The length of my hair?"

"If that were the only thing, I would be glad of it," Edward replied, in his voice a smile.

Carlisle felt torn this way and that, tossed about in a frightful storm. Through the open window, he saw the light leaving the sky, and the night sounds began invading the room. The Winter wind was sweet, but none sweeter than the man with hands in Carlisle's hair. Never had he known it was a possibility to feel such wholeness along with sorrow and regret.

Maybe he could let go of his hair; he had let go of Edward, never truly had him to begin with, but the idea of him had to be removed from him for always. He thought it God's will. Fate was inevitable; what will be, will be.

"Do you think it can be cut?" Carlisle asked.

"I think I can put the appropriate strength behind something to do so," Edward answered, continuing his fingertip's journey across Carlisle's scalp. The sensation was enlivening and comforting, calming all at once. Carlisle would not find it in himself to ask the boy to stop. Why should he? It was innocent.

"Do you think you can do a good job?" Carlisle asked. "It won't grow back."

Edward scoffed. "So far, I am incredibly good at everything I do. I see no reason why a haircut should be any different."

"Let's do it then."

~oOo~

Edward stood behind Carlisle, his father's straight razor sharpened and poised in his hand. Carlisle sat in an old wooden kitchen chair, a worn out shawl draped over his shoulders. Edward had a few lamps lit to fight the dark, although he saw well enough in it.

"Are you nervous?" he asked Carlisle, who clutched the shawl fiercely.

"A bit," Carlisle admitted.

"Surely, you're not vain, Carlisle? Vanity is a sin." Edward laughed. All seemed quiet and still, and so was Edward's laugh.

"I have looked the same for hundreds of years, Edward. Would you not be the smallest bit apprehensive?" Carlisle adjusted his position in the chair, crossed his ankle over his knee.

"When you say it that way..." Edward stopped, grinned. He leaned down, close to Carlisle's ear. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

Carlisle shuddered, and he knew it was due to Edward's closeness. This moment Carlisle would think back on as precious, that he already acknowledged. Edward stood straight again, began combing his fingers through Carlisle's hair.

Edward chose a small group of strands to begin with and held them tightly at the base of Carlisle's skull. With a gentle force he brought the razor down, and Carlisle was surprised when the strands began falling away much easier than anticipated. He closed his eyes.

The hands in Carlisle's hair were sure, but not swift. He appreciated the steady slowness Edward adhered to, each strand flowing away as each of Carlisle's desires. In the silence, he heard the sound as forgotten locks hit the floor, and with each one, he thought: _Edward's lips, Edward's throat, Edward's arms, his strength, his want, his passion, his love... _And he tried to let them go, let them go.

Edward's thoughts nearly echoed Carlisle's. He watched his hope fall away, each strand a moment he might have had. _To hold his hand, claim him as my own, to have my breath stolen by a willing kiss, to have him look me in the eye as he tells me he loves me. _

For Edward, it was a sweet anguish, Carlisle's thoughts unguarded and flowing, his love, his passion undulating as his heart wept. Again, Edward felt himself wanting to argue against Carlisle's decision, but how could he ask Carlisle to commit what he thought was a sin purposefully? Abandon Esme? Break her heart? No, Carlisle would never forgive himself.

For Carlisle, Edward's fingers whispering through his hair told of the trust he had for the boy, the adoration which would never go away. Before he had lusted after Edward in body, he had been drawn to his spirit, even as a human, although it was late to be admitting that to himself. He wanted to keep Edward from harm, but could not tell him to go from the very thing continuing to hurt him. Edward had told Carlisle he was not horribly unhappy. Carlisle, knowing it false, still chose to believe his words instead of his every action, the broken slump of his shoulders, the madness brewing in his eyes.

Edward's hand moved from Carlisle's head to his neck, steadying him as Edward began cutting close to his throat. Fingers nimble and strong, he cut Carlisle's hair short and even. When it came time to rid the back of Carlisle's neck of the soft, white-gold hair at the base of his skull, Edward placed the razor down, instead using the lethal tips of his fingernails. He counted every touch.

Gently, so gently Carlisle felt nothing but a breeze, Edward brushed away the stray locks from Carlisle's neck, his throat, his shoulders. Again, he put his hands in Carlisle's shorn hair, smoothing it, passing his love in the only way allowed.

A slight breeze blew in through the window, the chill of winter in its wake. Carlisle felt cold, something he was not supposed to feel. He pulled the shawl tighter.

Esme would not be back for two days.

Carlisle could not break the silence. Edward was finished, neither man having moved for several moments. Finally, Carlisle felt the heavy weight of Edward's hands on his shoulders. As though he fought against himself, Edward's fingertips moved to Carlisle's collar bone and further down, inside Carlisle's shirt, until the palm of Edward's hand rested over Carlisle's heart. Carlisle sighed and opened his eyes, trained them on the strong hand resting over his chest. His breathing sped.

"Sorry," Edward breathed. He let out a quiet laugh of embarrassment and then went silent again.

Carlisle could not say anything back, could not tell Edward to remove his hand, not when he felt his heart would go with Edward were it removed. He could not tell him to touch him more either, though he yearned for it.

Leaning forward, Edward placed his lips to Carlisle's hair, inhaling deeply, fingers clutching Carlisle's flesh as though he would drown in the scent of him did he not hold on. The hand resting on Carlisle's shoulder went to his neck, fingers splaying, warm and sure against Carlisle's skin. Carlisle's hand covered Edward's where it rested over his heart, and Edward made a sound of pain.

"I have to go, Carlisle," Edward whispered, his voice unsteady.

Carlisle, the stillness forgotten, turned in the chair to look up at Edward. He went from feeling reflective to panic. Edward could not leave; Carlisle could not remember a time he had not loved him, and the thought of being separate from him was as foreign as a fish with wings.

"Edward," Carlisle started, "wh- Please. Stay." Almost asking why, Carlisle thought better of it. He would not demean what they both felt any longer by denying it. "We can make this work."

"How, Carlisle?" Carlisle waited on that old anger to flare in Edward, but all he saw on the boy's face was defeat. He was resigned. "What reason is there to stay?"

Carlisle answered without pause. "Me. Stay for me. Things will get better."

"How can you know?" Edward was aghast. All his sacrifice, all his pain and Carlisle still begged him to stay. Carlisle's face burned with shame, although he could not let Edward leave.

"God will help-"

"Don't talk to me about Him!" Edward shouted, the resentment coloring his cheeks.

Carlisle stood to face Edward, the torture of living without him never having felt so real. His eyes could not hide the misery of it and Edward softened immediately. He reached out, hands placed on Carlisle's neck, thumbs moving to smooth the sorrow of his brow.

"I apologize," Edward said. "This is how you feel, and I won't mock you for it again."

"Please don't apologize to me," Carlisle replied, looking at everything but the tender expression on Edward's face. His own woe choked him; Edward's would surely kill him. "I should apologize." Edward was so close now, Carlisle feeling the boy's sweet breath on his face. "How dare I ask you to stay."

"So you withdraw your request?" Edward asked.

Carlisle sobbed. Edward's arms wrapped around his middle and pulled him close. Carlisle nuzzled into the crook of Edward's neck, took greedy gulps of Edward's scent and hoped to never lament the absence of it.

"No. I cannot," Carlisle answered as his own arms pulled Edward into a fierce embrace. "Can you not see this is for the best?"

"I see that you see it, Carlisle," he whispered. "Why should I stay and torment the both of us? Do you believe this feeling will go away?"

"I- Edward, I know I will love you, always, but I pray it changes to a different sort of love," Carlisle answered, as truthfully as he could manage. He had to hold onto the faith God would heal them.

"I ask again, what reason do I have to remain here?"

It was then Carlisle became fully aware of their position, his body pressed flush against Edward's, his strength radiating through every muscle and spreading to Carlisle as though his will were alive. Carlisle's chest to Edward's, his hips against Edward's hips, Edward's arms encircling him so tightly not even the thinnest piece of parchment might fit between them.

_True repentance means never intending to commit that sin again, _Carlisle thought.

Maybe for one night, Carlisle could be human. And it was with that thought in his head, the forgiveness already being sought, that he willfully looked into Edward's face, his beautiful, youthful, pained face and kissed him with more passion than he knew himself capable.

Carlisle's hands were in Edward's hair, on his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his hips. Everywhere he touched him, his frustration grew when he was met with clothing. His wicked hands yearned to be filled with Edward's flesh and he felt a fire low in his stomach he could not quench with mere imaginings. His thoughts repeated, _Stay for this. Stay for this._

Edward slowed Carlisle's movements, tenderly gripped Carlisle's wrists as his hands scrabbled to touch more. He made Carlisle look at him, beseeching with his eyes the earnestness of Carlisle's thoughts. "I love you," he said, leaning in and pressing his lips against the perfect indentation below Carlisle's nose, above his lips, remembering Carlisle's face upon waking into this new life.

"And I love you," Carlisle whispered, feeling as though he should brand the words into his forehead, chisel them on immovable stone. "May we, I mean, would you..."

Carlisle quivered under Edward's gaze and he smoothed his palms over Carlisle's trembling arms, placed a tender kiss against Carlisle's trembling lips. "Would you like to accompany me to my room?" Edward asked, the very air surrounding them heating with the implication of the request. Carlisle nodded and took Edward's hand, clutching it tightly.

Once in Edward's room, their fervor returned, Carlisle groaning as he aided Edward in shedding his clothing, each new patch of flesh revealed to him a gift, from whom, he would not think on. He touched the bare skin of Edward's stomach, his thighs, his backside, unmarred and inviting. Carlisle's mouth devoured Edward's, each breath was his breath, each sigh was his sigh. Finding the spot where he had bitten Edward, Carlisle ran his tongue over the puckered skin, silver in the absence of light, and thanked whoever listened for Edward's existence.

Edward struggled with Carlisle's clothes, Carlisle helping Edward where he could between touches, and when they were both naked, Carlisle swore aloud. The heat and love and lust and sensation consumed him, and although he had as many minutes to exist as drops of water in the ocean, he knew it would never be enough time. Never would there be enough time to worship Edward the way he wanted.

And love opened its arms to them, promising a safe haven from the tumultuous feelings they experienced in the past years. For a night, Carlisle and Edward could simply be, Carlisle listening to the stirrings of his heart instead of his mind.

Carlisle pressed Edward against the wall, open mouth against Edward's, sharing more a breath than a kiss. The older vampire's lips found their way again to Edward's throat, to the place Carlisle remembered the steady thunder of life before he had bit down, the raging heat. Before Carlisle thought it, he was on his knees, cheeks, chin and lips nuzzling Edward in the most intimate of places. Edward gasped, fingers clutching hopelessly at the wall, searching for something to keep him upright. He moved his hands to Carlisle's shoulders and held on.

Inhaling, Carlisle thought on Edward's concentrated scent, sweet and aroused, flesh hard and hot as tempered metal. Carlisle's hands smoothed across the skin of Edward's thighs, across his backside, dug into Edward's hips as he began kissing Edward's length. Opening his mouth, Carlisle tasted Edward's cock with the tip of his tongue and thought he would fly away or never be able to move again. Edward's answering moan moved Carlisle with a sense of pride unlike he had never known, and - with no reluctance - took the tip of Edward's erection between his parted lips. The boy cried out and thrust his hips forward, Carlisle holding him steady, mouth moving up and down.

Edward looked down at Carlisle, on his knees, mouth full of Edward's flesh. Carlisle wondered if he could be so bold as to look Edward in the eyes as he committed such an act. Edward, hearing Carlisle's thoughts, moved his hands to Carlisle's face, urging him to tilt it. Carlisle met Edward's lustful gaze, finally, and felt a thrill of fear at the young vampire's dark eyes, squared jaw, flared nostrils. This was Edward at his most feral.

Carlisle wanted more, more, more of Edward. He halted his attentions to Edward's cock, but Edward did not protest because he knew Carlisle's mind. Carlisle turned Edward around, the boy's stomach and chest pressed against the wall. Never having moved from his knees, Carlisle rubbed his cheeks across the rounded globes of Edward's backside, teeth itching to bite the sweet flesh like ripe fruit. Unable to stop, Carlisle nipped and suckled, his palms spreading Edward open, revealing the spot Carlisle so wanted to bury himself.

"Please, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop," Edward murmured, over and over. He arched his back, body trembling. Carlisle felt Edward's need, his own need matching it, and - he was sure - surpassing it.

Carlisle flattened his tongue and licked across Edward's opening. He shuddered, his forehead falling into the wall, his hips pushing back further still. Again, Carlisle felt that burgeoning pride, his love for Edward swelling as the tide. He brought his tongue to a point and pushed inside of Edward, grasping Edward's hips and urging him back harder, further still. Carlisle's hand made its way to Edward's length and squeezed, doubling Edward's pleasure as he could not decide whether to push back or thrust forward.

All Carlisle knew was that he wanted to crawl inside Edward, be a part of him, attached to him, joined with him. He pressed his chest to the back of Edward's thighs, his body aching in the places not in contact with Edward. The carnal sounds in the room - Edward's moans and breathy murmurs, Carlisle's tongue as it filled Edward - had them both electrified with want.

"I want to touch you, Carlisle," Edward panted, his face buried in the crook of his elbow, his chest rising and falling. Carlisle began to stand, planting kisses up Edward's spine as he went. Again, he turned Edward around, shoved him against the wall and brought their bodies flush. Carlisle cried out when Edward pressed their hips together, both men's erections finding friction. The room seemed to lighten with the static of their desire and Carlisle already felt his release begging to be freed.

And Edward did touch Carlisle, pulling him close, holding him tightly as though he feared Carlisle would flee. Carlisle could not blame him and basked in the need Edward had for him, as wicked as it was to do so.

"Take me to bed," Edward practically whimpered, "_please_."

So Carlisle did, their lips sealed together as if in breaking apart they would fall to pieces. Carlisle felt the bed against his legs and fell back, pulling Edward on top of him, their hips finding a quick tempo as Edward's hands once again went to Carlisle's hair, grasping the strands, pulling Carlisle closer to him. They kissed each other to the point of pain, to the point where neither man knew whose lips were whose. It was frantic and desperate; they were sand rushing through an hourglass, the wings of a hummingbird, notes of music speeding to halves, to eighths to sixteenths.

Carlisle flipped them over, his entire future playing out in his head, the future he might have shared with Edward. He thought of the tender caresses they might have shared, gentle kisses, day upon day of neverending leisure to explore Edward's body. Carlisle wanted to know the shape of Edward's fingerprints, how many strands of hair the boy had on his head. He wanted to know _all _of him. Instead he would grant himself this one night. Why were they rushing?

Edward, in reponse to Carlisle's thoughts, slowed his hips. Their lips still matched, Carlisle breathed in Edward, their chests pressing together with each inhale. He pulled back, separated their mouths so he could look at Edward, set to memory the boy's parted lips, dark eyes and reddened cheeks.

"Edward," Carlisle breathed, "I want to be inside you." He stopped. Edward smiled at him but there was no joy in it. "But-"

"I know, Carlisle," Edward replied, his tongue darting out to wetten his lips. "You don't need to explain. I know." The boy raised his head to pepper kisses across Carlisle's jaw, down his throat. A sound escaped Carlisle, a sound of joy, of deepest regret, and he began moving his hips again. Edward's hand snaked between their bodies, adding pressure behind Carlisle's erection, ensuring pleasure.

Carlisle felt it again, his release building in his stomach and spine, feeling rapture to the very bottoms of his feet, the tips of his fingers. Carlisle thought of Edward - his wits, his flesh, his music, his passion - and knew how undeserving he was of any it.

Even though he was commiting countless wicked things with Edward, he would not take his virginity. It was something, in that moment, he would not even give of himself, no matter how much he wanted it. These firsts would have to be enough for them both.

Instead he imagined his flesh buried, tight, inside Edward's open body, his muscles clenching around him, begging Carlisle, _pleading with him _to come, to fill him with everything Carlisle is, was or ever would be. Then he was coming and it was painful and exhilarating and agonizing. His body quaked in the power of it, all the suppression and denial spurring Carlisle to the heavens and he saw the stars themselves. His heart was full, so full, and the memory of its pounding had never been so fresh. Edward below him, his face contorted in pleasure and sorrow, watched Carlisle closely as he came, a sigh emitting from his parted lips as the warmth spread between their two bodies.

Edward had yet to come, so Carlisle hurried to wrap his lips around Edward's stiffness again, some feral need rising in him to be filled with Edward's seed. He worked him swiftly, Edward's fingers curling in the bedsheets, ripping them, Carlisle's name tumbling from his mouth. Carlisle begged Edward in his thoughts to come, to let him drink from his body as he had years before. That intimacy remembered, Edward spilled inside Carlisle's mouth, hips moving erratically, the cry escaping him full of an emotion neither man could name.

They did not speak, neither man knowing words to breach the chasm existing between them, a void never to be filled, but Carlisle was already aroused again, so they chased the mourning the only way they could.

They found moments of joy as they fought daybreak, tangled together until the morning light.

~oOo~

The buttery sunshine streamed through Edward's curtains. Carlisle curled himself against Edward's back, lips pressing against his shoulder. Their hands were intertwined over Edward's heart. Edward bit his lower lip.

"When I was ten," Edward started, "I swore I was in love." He laughed. Carlisle smiled against his skin. "We even had a song. _Let Me Call You Sweetheart. _Mother gave me five cents to get her some candy. She broke up with me for my friend. His mother had given him a dime to get her something. I was devastated."

"Ah, the angst of childhood," Carlisle said, a breathy laugh against Edward's neck, a press of lips under his ear.

Edward rolled onto to his back, Carlisle's arm still draped across his torso. "I laid down in the sitting room floor and listened to _Let Me Call You Sweetheart _for two weeks - as long as the relationship had been, mind you - and cried. I never thought I would love again." Edward laughed out loud, grabbed Carlisle's hand again and brought it to his lips, kissing each digit. "I know now it wasn't love." Edward grew serious, head against the pillow, and turned to look at Carlisle. "Maybe that is how this will be."

The words closed around Carlisle's heart and squeezed. The thought of his feelings for Edward equated to the crush of a ten-year-old was almost too much to bear, yet he hoped Edward's words would one day be true. He prayed for it, not only for Edward's benefit.

Carlisle nodded, swallowed the ache rising in his throat and said, "I'm sure it will be, Edward."

They both knew it was a lie.


	14. Like a Roaring Lion

**Author's Note: Thanks to ms. ambrosia for the beta work. Any errors left are mine. Thanks for reading, everyone. As always, I don't own these characters and anything you recognize is not mine.**

* * *

_Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. _The Bible, 1 Peter 5:8

* * *

The day Carlisle and Esme married, the world froze. At least, it did from Edward's viewpoint. As far as he could see, there was icy whiteness blanketing the ground. He climbed the tallest mountain he could find, trudging through dead foliage, making all the noise he could. From horizon to horizon, everything had been drained of color. And it was there, isolated and desolate, he screamed his heartache to whoever was in earshot. The suffering resounded for ages.

But when he climbed down, dressed in his best suit, stood next to Carlisle as the couple recited their vows, it was there he forced a smile.

Edward never let on he knew when many of the vows were spoken, Carlisle thought of him.

They moved again but not far. Carlisle had not been able to find work anywhere close to where they stayed before. Luckily, with the move Edward found himself even closer to his campus, on the opposite side; he did not have to switch schools again.

Edward left his bed in the cabin in the middle of nowhere. He was quite sure he never wanted a bed again. Useless things, he thought, for a vampire who never sleeps.

Carlisle, Esme and Edward were a family. Thankfully, Carlisle did not try to present Edward as his son, not yet. He was Esme's brother, although calling Esme his mother would not have bothered Edward so much. He equal parts loved and resented her.

The years passed by as a tortoise crawls. Edward felt he could grab each minute from the air, inspect in all around, taste it, name it and then set it free. Each hour could be measured by how many times Carlisle thought of Edward and of Esme. The record was one hundred and thirty-seven versus one hundred and one, Edward being the victor. The days were measured by how many kisses Esme and Carlisle exchanged, how many long looks or tender touches. The weeks were "I love yous" and the months were times the couple made love. The record for one month was ninety-four.

Nearly five long years, Edward passed time in this way. He graduated from school, enrolling in all the extra courses he could, never taking a summer vacation. On the day of his graduation, Carlisle held Edward in his arms so long, the boy could have counted fifteen "I love yous" or twelve kisses. Carlisle's arms held him together for those moments, and Edward breathed for the first time in years. It ended though, just as every other moment with Carlisle ended.

New year's eve, 1927, Edward went hunting on his own. As he returned, approaching the home he shared with Carlisle and Esme, he heard raised voices. There had never been a time in the years they were together Edward could recall such an event. He stopped walking, stood in the spot, aware of his eavesdropping and not really caring.

"That's not how it is," Carlisle seethed. Edward could see Carlisle in his mind, arms crossed, eyes looking all around the room.

"I'm sorry, Carlisle. I'm sorry," Esme said. "But it is true. I think you know it." Her voice broke almost imperceptibly, starting from a shout and tapering into almost nothing. Edward knew what they were fighting about, and felt ashamed, for Esme's sake.

"How many times do I need to tell you, Esme?" Carlisle shouted. He saw her expression and grabbed her arms. Esme looked to the right and left, but would not look at Carlisle. He lowered his voice to an angry whisper. "I love you, okay? You."

Edward saw Carlisle in Esme's thoughts, his face pained, angry. Edward thought he might have trouble believing Carlisle if he were Esme. "Do you?" she asked, setting her jaw and looking Carlisle in the eyes.

Carlisle sighed, loosened his grip on her arms. "Yes. You are _everything. _You hold me together_,_" he stated. Esme crumpled in his arms and curled into his chest, Carlisle's arms going around her.

"Oh, Carlisle," she said, "I know you do. I _know _you do. But sometimes when I'm in a room with you two, it's like I am not even there." Carlisle rubbed his hands up and down her arms, across her back, in his thoughts, the guilt.

"Please, don't ever feel that way," Carlisle whispered, face in Esme's hair.

"You love me, Carlisle. I know you do, but you love him more." Her voice shook and she sobbed quietly, hiding her face from Carlisle's view.

"I love him, but like a...son," Carlisle murmured, holding her closer.

"Carlisle, Carlisle, Carlisle, you've never lied to me. Please don't start now. Please don't start ever." She clutched the front of his shirt, looked up into his face, eyes shiny with tears which would never fall.

"But I do, Esme." He sighed again, backing away and holding her by her shoulders. "I won't ever lie to you." Carlisle brushed her hair from her eyes, smoothed his hands against her cheeks, thumbs following the lines tears should have flowed. "I love him as a father would a son, a brother would a brother, a friend would a friend. And, yes, there is a part of my heart that holds him as a..." he paused, swallowed, "a lover."

Esme freed herself of Carlisle's hands, moved to sit, her face in her hands. "I love him, too," she whispered. "Not like that. Do you ever wish- Should you have-"

Carlisle sat next to her, draped an arm over her shoulder. "It gets easier, Esme. Everyday. Because of you. Don't ever doubt your place here, with me. You are my wife. You are the one I choose to share my bed, my heart."

"I have what is leftover," she moaned.

"Without you, I would have nothing left," he replied. "I love you, Esme." He kissed her temple. "Thank you for putting up with the mess I've made of myself."

Esme finally lifted her face from her hands, looking toward Carlisle. "There's nowhere else I'd want to be but with you."

Carlisle kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, finally settling his mouth against hers. Edward had not moved from the spot he stood, each word and every kiss immobilizing him further.

"You know," Carlisle said, "it's been five years ago today I asked you to be my wife." In his thoughts, he briefly saw a flash of Edward, back arched, a flash of black, lustful eyes. "Should we go out and celebrate?"

Esme nodded.

Carlisle left a note for Edward, letting him know they would be back late. As he left, he caught a scent in the breeze and he looked around for Edward, shaking his head when he saw him nowhere.

Edward still had yet to move. Snow had been falling steadily, burying his feet. He sat down in the cold, laid back and stretched out. Slowly, he began moving his arms and legs, unsmiling as he made an angel in the snow. He stood up and looked at it, wondering where he had lost his innocence. No matter what Carlisle said, Edward knew his soul was lost. He did not want it anymore, not if it meant answering to God.

Blood. He wanted blood. And never again did he want to be the cause of an argument between Carlisle and Esme. He did not want to hurt her that way, not anymore.

Going inside, he hurriedly packed a bag. He put on his father's coat. Leaving his father's shaving kit and his mother's ring, his hand rested on the snuff box, warmth radiating from it against his cold hand. Deciding he could not leave it, he stuffed it in the bag. One weakness, he would allow himself.

In the parlor, Edward found the note Carlisle had left him. He held it to his nose, inhaled, pressed his fingers against the indentations of Carlisle's words, his lips whispering a goodbye. Turning it over, he penned his own note:

_Carlisle,_

_Tell Esme I love her. Tell her she reminds me of my mother._

_I don't want to be right anymore if everything I feel is wrong._

_Hopefully, you find the contentment you have been seeking as I search for mine._

_I've gone hunting._

_Regards,_

_Edward_

~oOo~

Edward had not realized he had a plan until he found himself in Columbus. He watched Charles Evenson for days. The man did not really work, but did a few odd jobs here and there. Edward wondered how he supported himself, especially with his heavy drinking habit.

Reading his thoughts, Edward quickly understood how depraved the man was. Sometimes, the man thought of Esme, about how he would like to get his hands on her again. Edward felt sick. Evenson was a man who truly deserved to die. Edward would help the universe along.

He waited until he was near starving though. Edward wanted his first taste of human blood to be sweet, but he tried to tamp down the excitement he felt brewing for murder.

The night he decided to act, it was raining heavily. Evenson slipped in the mud as he tried to get home, and it was Edward who approached him, offered assistance, even aided the man in getting to his house. Edward's mouth flooded with venom even though the man stank of unwashed clothing and booze.

"Thank you, sir," Evenson slurred as he leaned against his doorframe. He squinted at Edward in the low light, Edward's unsmiling face sending a shock of fear through him. "Say, what's your name, kid?"

"Edward," he answered. "Edward Cullen." The decision to use Carlisle's surname was a last minute one, but he liked the way it sounded, especially in those moments before he performed such a righteous act.

"Well, uh, Ed, thanks again for the help." The man's hands were shaking as he struggled with the door knob. Finally he opened it, and Edward recognized the dismissal. Instead of leaving, Edward pushed Evenson inside his home, the older man falling to the floor.

"My name isn't 'Ed'," he growled, delighting in the stink of fear filling the room. Edward slammed the door behind him. The rain fell in sheets against the tin roof and the lightning flashed outside, so rare for a rainstorm in January. Edward felt every bit the monster he was, glowering down at the trembling man.

"I'm s-sorry, M-Mr. Cullen," Evenson stuttered. "I won't mess up again, I promise." He tried to stand, stumbled, and wound up scooting away across the floor, unable to gain his footing. Edward moved towards him, stretching himself to his full height, smiling as he felt powerful for the first time in his life.

For a decade, he had denied himself this: the thrill of fear, the adrenaline of the kill, the sweet flavor of human blood. Evenson's heartbeat called to Edward, and he found himself laying all the blame for the hurt he had experienced on the man's pathetic life. Edward felt himself change in that moment, the humanity Carlisle insisted he hold onto slipping, and he became what he was: a predator, a vampire.

"L-listen," Evenson pled, "I don't have much, but take it." The man fumbled in his pockets, pulled out a few coins. "Take everything!" He gestured to the shabby furniture, the broken trinkets.

Edward laughed.

"You know, I saw Esme a few weeks ago," Edward said, crouching down and grabbing the lapels of Evenson's coat.

"Esme? How do you know- That _bitch. _I should have killed that stupid whore when I had-" Edward cut him off with a backhanded slap to the face. Dark red blood began spilling from the man's lip. Leaning in, Edward lapped it from his chin and moaned. Evenson cried out and tried to escape.

Edward shook him until his teeth rattled. "She's not a whore, you goddamn son of a bitch," Edward shouted, blood tinged venom splattering the man's face. "That woman is a saint."

The stench from Evenson doubled and Edward laughed again. "And you just wet yourself." Edward threw him down, his head cracking against the wooden floor. The vampire paced back and forth in front of his prey, hands pulling at his hair, wicked chuckles bubbling out in between frantic whispers to himself.

"What are you gonna do?" Evenson asked, still trying to scoot away until he found himself against the far wall. Edward crouched low and pounced on him before he could get farther.

"I'm sending you to Hell," Edward whispered. "But not before you tell me why." Edward nuzzled against Evenson's pulse point, inhaling deeply, the fresh blood still flavoring his mouth. God, how he could not wait to bite.

"Why what, you crazy-" Edward started shaking him again, pounding his head into the wall.

"Why didn't you take care of her!" Edward screamed, his mouth right against Evenson's ear. The man started crying which simply enraged Edward further. He grabbed the man's arm and swiftly jerked back Evenson's hand, reveling in the sound of bones cracking. Evenson's crying turned to screams as his fingers dangled uselessly. Edward waited until the man's shouts died down to whimpers.

Edward grabbed his other hand, yanked on his index finger. "Why," his middle finger, "didn't" his ring finger, "you," his pinky, "take care of her!" Edward stood and crushed the man's hand under his boot, ground it into the floor and let Evenson's fear and pain and confusion bathe him in a pool of hurt.

Straddling the man's thighs, Edward pulled him to a sitting position, his face inches from Evenson's. "It's your fault. This is all your fault. If you had loved her like she needed, we would not be here," Edward said, barely a whisper, the eye of a storm. Temporarily calm and calmy temporary. "Because of you, I lost forever."

The man whimpered and Edward sank his teeth into his throat, Edward's fist plunging through the man's chest, his sternum, shattering his ribs as he pulled his still beating heart from his body.

And Edward baptized himself in the blood.

~oOo~

Time sped up for Edward. Where his time with Carlisle had been counted in sorrows, the time on his own was counted in blood. Thieves, murderers, rapists. Their life ran through his veins, their memories resonated in his mind. He knew each of their names: Harry, Bobby, Bruce, Miguel, Andrew, Constance, Micah, Georgette and _so _many more. Hundreds. Edward carried the voices of hundreds of demons.

Everything he was, he turned over to the vampire. He used all his senses when finding his prey, and the part of him he denied - the part still human - found it horrific that prey was so easy to find. Edward never went hungry looking for someone despicable enough to feed upon. He stalked and terrorized and learned new ways of frightening with the thoughts he stole.

Edward would maim and murder and drink and drink and drink until he was full to overflowing, no room left in him for thoughts of Carlisle. The only thoughts he had belonged to others. He did not live anywhere, simply moved from place to place, hid from the light of day. It might have been years he refused to see the sun. He did not need it anymore, as firmly as he had planted himself in darkness, and he bloomed there, a shadow of who he had been.

He felt content enough, his eyes glowing red, his strength that of fifty grown men.

June of 1931, Edward found himself in need of some new clothes. He would have been perfectly happy in the same thing every day, but the work he did was sometimes messy. Most of the time, he managed with taking clothing from his victims, but as of late no one had been his size. Edward donned his darkened spectacles to visit a shop.

The first shop he came across only sold tailored clothing, and he hated waiting almost as much he hated daylight, but he knew it would be more troublesome to find a store with pre-made items. Even though it was cloudy, Edward flinched at the brightness.

The tailor measured Edward, and his thoughts were so busy Edward contemplated killing him. The bodies in the shop were alluring, that was certain, but Edward knew he was already drowning in monstrosity. Why add the blood of innocents?

The man pattered off to find some cloth to show Edward, and he caught site of himself in a mirror. He approached his reflection as though it were something to guard against, his movements defensive. Slowly, he came to stand in front of his reflection, the face he saw barely recognizable. How long had it been since he saw himself? Edward waved his right arm up and then down at human speed. Inching his way closer, Edward touched his cheeks, his jaw, turned his face side to side. Flawless. The day he should have been thirty, he looked not a day over seventeen. He reached up to remove his spectacles, hesitated, then grasped one of the arms between his index finger and thumb. Again, he paused before lowering them on his nose. He stifled a gasp before ripping them off, the eyes staring back at him foreign, demonic and wicked, timeless.

The tailor chose that moment to come back, seeing Edward's reflection, his inhuman eyes, over his shoulder before the vampire smashed the mirror into oblivion. The stranger crossed himself and Edward turned to look at him, chuckling maniacally.

"Go back to where you came from," the man said, his eyes wide and voice trembling as he backed away.

Edward ran.

~oOo~

Edward did not hunt for fourteen days. The tailor in the shop had told him to go back to where he came from, so he made his way back to Chicago, to the house he had shared with his parents.

The house no longer felt like a home. Even though there were family portraits everywhere, the faces of his mother, his father - even himself - were unrecognizable.

The thoughts of his victims seemed to be manifesting. Not their wicked, sinful thoughts. Instead, the moments they were human waltzed through Edward's skull, the faces of their children, their friends, their parents. Moments of love. Moments worthy of redemption.

Edward looked at his hands, old and dried blood still lingering under his fingernails. He sat in the empty house, curled in the dirt accumulated on his parent's old bed and inspected himself. When he pushed his face into the covers, he could almost smell them again, his parents, Carlisle, the souls haunting him. Speaking the names of those he murdered out loud, he relived each of their thoughts in his mind, finishing with his torture of them. Each and every one mocked him, and he felt them burning inside his body, his lungs, his heart. For days, he remained practically motionless in this fashion.

Once he finished cataloging his victims, he allowed himself thoughts of Carlisle. Carlisle's strength, his goodness, his support and advice. Then he thought of Carlisle's face, his furrowed brow, his lower lip. Edward's thoughts went to Carlisle's hands, his arms, his heated flesh. He remembered Carlisle's fingers, his tongue, inside Edward. He missed him. The ache grew and grew until all Edward could think of was how empty he was. No matter how much he drank, no matter how many people he murdered, the thousands of other thoughts would never be enough to banish Carlisle from his heart.

Edward sobbed and cursed, tore at his flesh, tugged his hair. He screamed and ripped apart the coverings of his parent's bed, feathers flying everywhere. He tried to escape himself but remained firmly where he was. Edward writhed and moaned and lashed out until he thought he should be exhausted, but he was not. Sliding into the floor, he pounded his fists into the wood; it splintered and groaned under his hands. He crawled to his parent's old dresser and pulled out the drawers and tore the dusty clothing he found there. Everything he encountered, he destroyed.

Hearing an explosion outside, Edward flinched. For a moment, he thought it was the end of days, but he laughed when he remembered it must be independence day. He felt drawn outside, so he ran down his steps, his hair and clothing disheveled. Once outside, he sat on his front steps, the sky exploding in a variety of colored sparks, the hues burning into his eyes. Standing, he moved into the street, humans from the neighborhood all standing outdoors, their faces turned towards the display.

All the families and friends gasped and laughed as the fireworks reflected in their eyes. There were good people and bad people and they were all tied together. They all had happy memories and sad ones and they still woke up everyday; they still loved even with broken hearts. Edward looked into the face of a woman who had once murdered a man as she held the hand of her child, the little girl's thoughts full of love. He moved to the thoughts of a boy who had stolen a bicycle from a child across town, and he read the regret there.

Edward began walking down the street.

To his left, a man whose wife had killed herself held the hand of a new love. To his right, the only son of a widower pushed his father in a wheelchair so he could see the sky. All around him, there was love.

Even for the wicked.

Edward began to run.

He ran until he was outside of town, until he was in the woods. He ran until he found a deer, pounced and drained it. Then he ran until he found another, pounced and drained. Again, he found another, pounced and drained. He filled himself with the blankness of animals, begged them to cleanse him, purge him of the demon he had become.

After the fourth animal, Edward fell to his hands and knees, blood and fur covering his shirt, his trousers, his face. There amongst the bracken, he prayed. He knew his soul was lost, but he prayed for the ones he made suffer; he prayed they were given a chance at redemption. He prayed for the ones he hurt, the ones who were left behind. Edward hoped someone heard him, despite his lack of faith.

Finally, he sent up thankfulness for Carlisle, and begged that Carlisle would find it in himself to forgive Edward for the things he had done. He prayed he would love Carlisle as a son should a father. Edward prayed until he felt a peace move over him like a soothing balm, a lullaby, a soft touch. Eventually, he stood, brushing the fur from his clothes, straightening his hair. He turned to the north, the man who Edward had always thought his other half guiding him like a beacon.

Edward was going home.


	15. Full Assurance of Hope

**Author's note: Huge thanks, as always, to ms. ambrosia. She's effin awesome and I love her so hard. If it hadn't been for her, guys, this story wouldn't have continued. Period. She encourages me when I'm down and holds my hand when I have doubts. She deserves a big thanks for that! Any mistakes left are mine. **

* * *

_And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises._ The Bible, Hebrews 6:11-12

* * *

Carlisle held the note against his mouth as though he could kiss the boy who penned it. The page was worn, crumpled. When Carlisle first read it, he had been angry, wadding the note into a ball and throwing it to the floor. Only later, when he was alone, did he find it, smooth out the wrinkles and mourn what he had lost. He began carrying it with him always, in the pocket over his heart, wrapped in waxed paper to hold Edward's scent. Carlisle could smell them both there, his Autumn to Edward's Spring, and he hurt more because of it. He welcomed the anguish; it reminded him he was surviving, even without Edward.

Hope never left Carlisle; Edward left most of his possessions, so surely he meant to return. The hope, however, did not fill the gaping space Edward had left in Carlisle's home, his life, his heart.

Carlisle caught himself guarding his thoughts - a learned habit hard to rid himself of. After a few months went by, he found it almost liberating to allow his thoughts flight. It was then he began pitying himself fully. The what-ifs of the situation stirred through his overactive brain like a restless spirit, some poltergeist content to wreak havoc for eternity. All his free time only existed as more time to wait.

Sitting in his study, Carlisle realized Edward had been gone nine months. He knew very well the day Edward left; he also knew very well, as he stared at the calender, it had been ten years to the day the boy had been thrust into his life. He took the time to remember Edward as he had been then, incorrigible and full of youthful pride. Remembering the last time Carlisle saw him - the constant strife in his eyes - the contrast was not lost. Of course, Carlisle knew there would be no one to blame from those differences but himself. The looks full of constant longing and sorrow, the tinge of hopefulness, Carlisle had painted them there surely as an artist covers a canvas.

Outside, the leaves were changing, the topside of a maple leaf reminding him of Edward's hair. The color of Edward's eyes had been like the way the light seemed to brighten for one single moment before it sank below the horizon. Carlisle breathed in, slowly, as though the scent of Edward's fingers against the paper might be preserved longer in his patience.

Esme approached and Carlisle hurriedly put the note back in his pocket, his hand covering its hiding place involuntarily. She knocked on the door.

"Come in," Carlisle said. Esme opened the door, entered the room with a cautious quiet.

"Hello," she said, the sound barely causing a ripple in the air.

"Why did you knock?" Carlisle asked, rising from his desk and moving to embrace his wife.

"Oh, I don't know." She squeezed Carlisle's middle before throwing her hands in the air. "You just seemed thoughtful today."

Carlisle laughed as though her suggestion was a silly thing, a soft snort through his nose. Esme giggled nervously.

"What's on your mind, dear?" he asked, going back to sit as Esme perched on the corner of his desk. He resented her blocking his view of the window, but he did not speak his resentment aloud.

"Carlisle, I know you miss E-"

"You miss him, too," Carlisle interrupted.

"Yes, I do, that's true, but... We've already lived here for awhile. I, uh, well, we're claiming to be thirty-five. Do you not think we shou-?"

"No."

Esme pursed her lips and inspected her hands. She threw them in the air again, fidgeted with her skirt. Eventually, she looked at Carlisle again. "Carlisle, don't you think you should at least-?"

"No," he answered again, jaw set, eyes narrowing. Esme stood up, frustration dilating her eyes and swallowing the gold of her iris.

"All you do is sit here and look out that window!" Esme said, pointing her thumb over her shoulder.

"No, I don't," Carlisle said. Without thinking, he leaned to the left, only just, eyes flitting outdoors.

"There, you see? You've done it just now," Esme seethed.

"You want to lose him forever? Abandon him? Go somewhere he cannot find us?" Carlisle asked, the idea of _never _seeing Edward again making his entire being cold. That, Carlisle thought, was an impossibility.

"Of course I don't, Carlisle. I would never want that. I love him too." She moved beside Carlisle, knelt on the floor, putting her thin, womanly hands on his knees. "But we can't wait on him forever."

_Yes, we can, _Carlisle thought, but said, "We can at least wait one more year."

Esme frowned and furrowed her brow, stood and kissed Carlisle's forehead. "Another year then."

She left the room, Carlisle deciding he should open the window as well. He might pick up a scent.

~oOo~

"How old are you today?" the nurse asked Carlisle.

"How do you know it's my birthday?" Carlisle asked in return. The woman blushed and looked at her feet. Carlisle felt awkward, realizing his tone had almost been accusatory.

"Uh, well, I heard it from someone. One of the other nurses," she answered, a coy smile appearing on her face. Carlisle was used to the attention, but the reminder of time ticking by was no comfort.

Someone had obviously been in his personnel file.

He attempted to smile, tried to will himself to look the physical age he claimed to be.

"Thirty-six," he replied.

"No!" she exclaimed, surprise genuine. "You don't look a day over twenty-five." It was meant to be a compliment, and to most, it would be. Not to Carlisle. For him, it was a condemnation. He should be dirt. He should be forgotten, save for a stone with his name chiseled upon its worn surface.

"Thank you," he said, unable to keep the fake smile plastered to his face; it faded slowly and Carlisle felt every bit his actual age. The nurse noticed.

"Don't be upset about getting older, Doctor. Men only get better with age. Like a fine wine, no?"

Carlisle was not human, had not been for quite some time. The reassurance meant nothing because he would exist for years, never getting any older. He simply nodded. Edward would be twenty-nine soon, Carlisle thought. Like himself, Edward would always look the same, no better or worse.

He looked out the window, frowned. Carlisle ached and ached, his soul having split apart, half of himself somewhere he could not find.

"Happy Birthday," the nurse said.

~oOo~

The snow melted as Carlisle watched the world outside of windows. Spring brought such bright greens. Green grass, green leaves, tiny green bugs. He almost convinced himself Edward had reverted back to humanity, and he could see impish green eyes peeking at him through the branches. Honeysuckle bloomed, crept up the sides of the house. Esme tried to weed through it; Carlisle stopped her. Let them grow, he had insisted. The smell enveloped the house and all the windows were open.

Esme came in his study again.

"Carlisle, it's been over two years," Esme said.

"Two years since what?" he asked, looking out the window. Exactly, it had been two years, three months and twenty-seven days since he last saw Edward.

"You know," she sighed.

"And?" Carlisle would not have the argument again. He cared not Esme had been lenient with the timeframe Carlisle had originally agreed upon; he cared not she was a woman pretending to be ten years older than she was physically. Edward was coming back.

"We have to go," Esme whispered, the words having no less of an impact.

"One more year, Esme," Carlisle answered, standing up and walking to the window. He opened it fully and leaned his head out, looking to the right and left.

"Please, stop. Just stop," Esme begged, moving to take Carlisle's hand. He kissed her because he did not want to hear her voice anymore.

"I love you," he said and kissed her again. He moved his mouth to her throat. "I love you," he repeated. Carlisle unbuttoned Esme's blouse, hands finding her flesh, lips caressing tender spots. "I love you." Was it himself or Esme he tried to convince?

Pressing her flat on his desk, Carlisle pushed up Esme's skirt, hastily dropped his trousers and was inside her. He wanted to forget. Carlisle was certain he _needed _to forget Edward had been gone so long, that he was stuffing himself with human blood like an overripe tick. Carlisle needed to forget how he was sometimes overcome with pain because he could not see Edward, touch him, know him from the inside out. With perfect clarity, Carlisle could recall the shape of Edward's naked hips. The curve of his smile. The slope of his neck.

Carlisle forgot to forget and found himself remembering. Although he moved inside Esme, his wife, the woman he loved, he thought of the boy - the man - he desired, loved, cherished, held above all others. Carlisle kissed Esme's lips and the flavor was wrong but the warmth was right. The thighs wrapped around his hips were too smooth. Her fingers, digging into his back, were strong but not strong enough, too short.

His eyes were closed. Seeing Edward as though his image were burned into Carlisle's eyelids, Carlisle recalled it all. Edward reaching for a book, a sliver of pale skin revealed. The way Edward's muscles coiled before he pounced. The light shining behind him. The way he rested a pencil against his lips and Carlisle so wished he could be that cold metal ferrule. How with a look, Edward set Carlisle to burning.

Knowing it was not fair, he opened his eyes and looked at Esme: her soft, long hair, her full lips, her rounded curves. He loved her. He loved making love to her. She loved Carlisle, and he was free to love her in return.

With all his power, Carlisle thrust into the woman below him, the most intimate part of him attached to her in the most intimate of ways.

Of his thoughts, however, those flew out the window.

~oOo~

The vampire sat at the piano, shoulders curved down, a frown marring his beautiful face. He touched the keys but lightly, lightly. The sound of the hammer striking the strings with each press felt like a fist to his chest. The heat swept in through the open window; the piano sorely needed to be tuned.

Carlisle remembered the chords Edward had taught him, recalled perfectly the lovely way Edward's hands flew up and down as he played them. Fingers fast as hummingbird wings, white-blue like the summer sky. Sometimes, their fingers had touched. Sometimes, Edward had put his hands over Carlisle's. Always, no matter how innocent the touch, Carlisle thrilled in those stolen moments. At one time, he had thought they would be enough to get him through forever.

Not anymore. This absence of Edward, the days terrifyingly long, the waiting, the lack of passion, had all aided Carlisle in a realization.

Standing, Carlisle opened the bench and pulled out the sheets of composition paper. Lines drawn sure and smooth. The smell of Edward slapped him in the face. He did not know what he looked for, but he found it anyway.

There, at the very bottom, Carlisle found one of Edward's compositions. It was short, only two pages, and etched at the top of page one, in Edward's familiar scrawl, it said: _For Carlisle. _The pages carried Edward's scent heavier than the rest, and Carlisle wanted to weep when he thought of the time Edward must have worried over each note. He could put his nose to the paper and almost smell which parts Edward paused on the longest.

Sitting once again, Carlisle placed the music in front of him and began playing. He found the light touch with which he played was fitting, because the entire piece seemed hampered somehow, as though the person who had written it tried to hold something in, contain something attempting to fly away. When Carlisle came to the end, he knew it was nowhere near finished. He gathered up the sheets of music and clutched them to his breast, closed his eyes and moaned.

Carlisle rose from the bench and leaned against the wall opposite the window. He looked outside, watched the insects in the air, the heat rolling in the afternoon sun, the trees barely moving in the stillness. He slid to the floor, concentrating on not crumpling the paper over his heart. Edward's pain, Carlisle breathed in. The notes seemed to remain hanging in the air as Carlisle finally admitted how abhorrently selfish he had been, was still being.

_How does it end? _Carlisle thought. _How should this end?_

Carlisle cried the only way he knew how, gasping sobs, knees to his chest like a child. The music clasped between his thighs and chest, Carlisle's fingers went into his hair, aching for the gentle way Edward had combed through it. The sounds he made were indistinguishable as human, but then he had not been one for awhile, had been faking for years. He was a baying wolf, a stuck pig, a speared doe. Who or what he was, he did not know, not anymore.

Carlisle realized his treatment of Edward had been unforgivable. His continued treatment of Esme was despicable. He would not continue, had no desire to.

_God, _he thought, prayed, _I have loved and honored you as long as I can remember. _Carlisle removed his hands from his hair, looked out the window again. _But if Edward comes back, and he still wants me..._ The thought was difficult to finish, it went against everything he had been taught. _If he still wants me, I will be whatever he wants me to be. I will be his lover, his friend, his _husband _if that is what he wants, even if You would never recognize us in that fashion. Without him, life is Hell. _Carlisle laughed then, although nothing was funny anymore. _So I know I can exist in it, although I wish not to ever again. And when it comes time for the world to end, I will beg your pardon then, because I cannot be sorry for the way I feel ever again. I won't. And if I must be condemned to Hell, an afterlife without Edward, I will simply have to hold onto him and run from You as the world disappears around us. _

_I love Esme. You know I do. But Edward is the one I can't live without. I need him._

_Please understand, I cannot continue this way. I beg you, send him home. Please, guide him home to me._

Carlisle rose from the floor, put the music back in Edward's piano bench.

If this was his punishment for having one night with Edward, he knew it to be the sweetest downfall he could imagine. He could never bring himself to regret it.

~oOo~

That summer was so hot, Esme's flowers shriveled by the end of July. The rain storms were few and far between, and the sun had been out more days than not. Esme and Carlisle began to suffer a bit of cabin fever.

Esme was on the porch reading while Carlise knelt in the flower bed, pulling out fistfuls of weeds and dead flowers. His back was growing warm under the merciless sun, light reflecting in every direction, rainbows thrown against the brown grass.

He had taken an extended sabbatical, unable to concentrate on work anymore. Besides, he was supposed to be thirty-seven and the whispers of his co-workers had not gone unnoticed. None of it mattered. Carlisle would stand in the same spot if needed, no force of man of nature could move him. Not without Edward.

The wind began blowing fiercely as Carlisle worked, and clouds moved in. Glancing at the sky, Carlisle hoped for rain soon, something to cleanse, something to heal the parched earth. The sun hid behind some grey masses for a moment, and the forceful breeze began hissing through the trees. The scent of something so very familiar teased Carlisle's senses. The smell mocking him was so brief he dismissed it. The honeysuckle seemed to give off a more powerful scent as it died.

The sunshine escaped the cloud covering and Carlisle noticed shifting light from the corner of his eye. His breathing sped and his back burned. Not from the sun. Prisms of light bounced about chaotically in the trees, and he thought it might be from his own trembling. His gaze remained locked on his hands, wrist deep in the earth.

It picked up again, the wind, and the scent was stronger, familiar enough to make his eyes sting, close enough it had to be real. Finally, he looked to his left, to the end of the long driveway.

Edward.

Standing, Carlisle wanted to run but could not move. He blinked, unsure if he was imagining. His musings had become very vivid. But no, there Edward stood, staring at Carlisle as Carlisle stared at him. Suddenly, they were both moving, but even with inhuman speed, the time it took to reach Edward seemed enough to fill a dozen lifetimes. And then Carlisle had Edward in his arms, his fingers digging into Edward's back as he took breath after breath filled with the warmth of Edward, temperate spring in the sweltering heat. The smell of human still lingered, but it was nothing compared to the familiar scent which belonged just to Edward.

_What should I say? _Carlisle thought.

"I missed you," Edward breathed, his face hidden against the crook of Carlisle's neck. It seemed centuries had passed since Carlisle heard Edward's voice and the sound was so moving he felt his knees go weak.

"And I missed you, Edward," Carlisle replied, hands traversing from Edward's back to his hair. They stood that way for long moments, never-ending strength giving them the stamina, a forever love holding them together.

After an eternity, a minute, a second Edward relinquished his hold on Carlisle and backed away, his gaze firmly on the ground. Carlisle placed the palms of his hands on Edward's cheeks, the feel of his skin enough to make Carlisle sigh, and urged the boy to meet his eyes. With hesitance, Edward looked into Carlisle's face, his eyes a deep burgundy filled with golden flecks.

Carlisle did not flinch; he had expected it. The gold, he had not been prepared for. Edward flinched at the thought.

"I couldn't keep... I heard them, Carlisle..." Oh, it had been so long since Carlisle had heard his name in Edward's voice. "I realized it was still wrong. Even though I only took bad people, it shouldn't be up to me. So I came back. I came back because it was wrong and I need you to forgive me," Edward said, his eyes closing as though he could hide what he had done.

Pride filled Carlisle; Edward had come back. Edward missed him. He did not speak, but leaned in, his nose brushing against Edward's jaw, his cheeks. Carlisle wanted to kiss his lips, but instead lightly brushed his mouth over Edward's right eyelid, followed by his left. Thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones, Carlisle waited on Edward to open his eyes. Finally, he did.

"You are home," Carlisle said. "What you've done is forgiven." Edward nodded, eyes drinking in Carlisle's face. He lifted his hands, smoothed his palms over Carlisle's face, his neck, his shoulders. He dropped them back to his sides as the rain began to fall. Edward looked toward the house.

"Carlisle, could I have a few moments alone with Esme?"

~oOo~

Carlisle went for a walk while Edward and Esme spoke. Once they were done, Carlisle could not read Esme's expression. He saw a mixture of relief, surprise and horror there. Despite it, she seemed thrilled to have Edward back.

Later, as Edward settled back into his room, Edward told Carlisle he had apologized to Esme. He told Carlisle he had prayed. He told Carlisle he wanted them to be friends, simply friends, and maybe, one day, Carlisle could be the father figure he wanted to be.

The older man schooled his thoughts, his face. He would never think of his near submission ever again.

_God works in mysterious ways_, he thought. That Edward should come to the decision he would be Carlisle''s companion, a friend, a son, just when Carlisle decided he would be more if Edward wished it was more than a coincidence; it must have been fated.

Edward stood awkwardly in his room; despite not having aged physically, his eyes gave away the things he had witnessed, been a party to. Everything about him seemed unearthly, outside, beyond.

Carlisle embraced his would-be son once more, the press of Edward's cheek against his, the heat of his hand sprawled on Carlisle's back were enough to keep him content. They would have to be.

"Don't ever leave again," Carlisle murmured.

"I don't think I can," Edward replied.

The window was closed.

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**End note: This was the last full chapter. The epilogue is done and will be up in a day or two. Thanks so much to everyone for reading. I totally love all of you who have read or reviewed or encouraged.**


	16. Epilogue: Of Love

__**Author's note: So this is the end of it. Thanks to ms. ambrosia. Thanks again to those who encouraged me to continue this even though it went a zillion years without updating. Also, I made a small blogpost about Carlisle (kind of in his defense :p) on shoefreak37(dot)wordpress(dot)com, if anyone in interesting in reading/discussing it. I realize if this story had a villain, it would be him for all intents and purposes. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. If you recognize it, it's not mine.**

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_If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. _The Bible, 1 Corinthians 13:2

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The Ancient Greeks have four distinct words for love. _Agape_: a word for true, all encompassing love. _Eros_: passionate love. _Philia_: love for a friend. _Storge_: love for one's family.

In English, there is simply the one term. People say "I love you" to their friends, their family, the ones they choose to spend forever with. How to differentiate?

Edward thinks it is nowhere near adequate.

There are a million words Edward could use to try and describe the love he has for Carlisle and none would ever be close. No other languages, no colors, no adjectives or adverbs could ever come close to breaching it. If there were a word meaning everything and nothing, near and far, rapture and heartache, it might fit. Almost.

He watches Bella, dancing with Jacob. How could he have ever hated the boy? Edward _was _that boy at one point, struggling and pushing, making ultimatums, threatening to leave, to get himself killed. In turn, how could Edward have ever pushed Bella to choose him? There were days he had wanted to beg, jump up and down and scream, _Pick me! Choose me! I can't survive being left behind again!_

Years and years of high school, college, watching an abundance of young people approach each other, so tentative, the look of budding attraction and frail hope on their faces, Edward wondered if he would ever feel that again. He wondered if he could, being as removed and outside as he was. With Bella, he did. Even when he told her everything of his past, she loved him, maybe even loved him more because she knew what it was like to be in love with more than one person. Thankfully, she never asked Edward who he loved more. What could he have said? The contrast between the two is as different as a deck of cards to a bird, a child to a grain of sand.

The day Edward asked her to be his wife, felt her weak, human arms embrace him, he realized she had knitted him back together, restored his faith, given him a reason not just to exist but to _live. _What word describes that sort of love? A love of absolutes. A love of mystery. A love of being loved, accepted, adored. A love without stigma. Bella's strength of spirit could beat down the strongest of the strong, and she _chose _to love Edward, to be with him forever. The reality of it takes his breath away.

But then, there will always still be Carlisle in his peripheral. Watching him, cataloging his movements, a burn older than time lighting Edward with every glance. He has and will deny it. Suppress it. As will Carlisle.

Edward remembers how the years swallowed him like a bottomless pit, falling and falling, the only thing remaining static as everything around him changed. Carlisle tried to present Edward with a wife in Rosalie, a gift wrapped in a package seeming irresistible to any normal man. The offense Edward took was staggering. And then when their family grew, a neat set of three couples - plus one - Edward welcomed the distractions, despite what they all thought. They all wondered if he were gay, but Edward never thought it would be the right question to ask. It was not a question of whether he was attracted to men or women, but a question of whether he could ever be attracted to someone who was not Carlisle.

Now, he is married, Bella is his wife, and all their inquisitive thoughts, their sympathetic stares will cease. With Jasper's help, he was calm and collected and content through the ceremony.

Edward will never let on, however, that when some of the vows were spoken, he thought of Carlisle.

~oOo~

Eventually, the music stops and it is time for Edward to change, prepare to take Bella on their honeymoon. As he puts on his casual clothes, he whispers a quiet thank you to Carlisle, because soon he will be able to give Bella the only bit of purity he has left. She deserves it.

Again, he opens his top drawer and looks at his father's snuff box, the corners worn down, a smooth spot right in the middle from Edward worrying at it with his lips, his fingers, his chin. Hearing Carlisle approaching, Edward makes a last minute decision and removes the box from its hiding place. A knock resonates.

"Come in," Edward says, pushing the drawer closed. Carlisle enters. The room becomes loaded with guarded thoughts, unspoken words.

"I'm proud of you, Son," Carlisle says. A hand goes to Edward's shoulder. It hurts and feels great, the contentment at the words and the touch giving him more solace than Jasper's empathic abilities ever will.

Edward sighs and smiles, covering Carlisle's hand with his own. A long, slow burn like a fire died down to embers.

Carlisle gestures to his other hand, the snuff box clutched in it. "I haven't seen that thing in ages." He looks at Edward, eyebrows drawn together. "I honestly thought it had been lost, back when-"

"I left?" Edward finishes.

"Yes. I haven't seen it since."

Carlisle takes the box at Edward's offering and holds in on the flat of his palm, the cool edges resting against the heel of his hand, his fingers. Edward opens the box as it sits on Carlisle's hand. Inside, there is a single lock of honey-colored hair tied with a strap of leather. The scent of Carlisle and vanilla burst forth from the open lid.

For half a second, Carlisle looks perplexed, but his forehead smooths at the realization. Edward reads something in Carlisle's mind, a flash of a shadow of a memory of a thought, regret on his face, and then a look so heartbreaking, tender and full of love. Another flash and it is gone.

"You've had this since?"

"Yes. I put it in my pocket that night, along with the tie." Edward is embarrassed, so embarrassed he closes the box, looks out the window.

"So you took it with you when you-"

"When I left, yes," Edward finishes for him. "It's yours, and I'm sorry I took it without permission, but I'm giving it back now."

"But Edward, the box isn't mine, and believe me, I haven't missed my hair." Edward thinks it a comment at which he should laugh, but he cannot.

"I just don't... I shouldn't have... I..." Words and words and Edward cannot come up with any.

"Edward," Carlisle says, his voice low and warm and deep. "Would you look at me, please?" Edward does. Carlisle puts the box back in Edward's hand, covering the boy's hand and the box with both of his own. Eyebrows high, eyes wide, serious, warm and golden and beautiful. "Keep it."

Edward nods. He wants to say so much more. He wants to scream _I need you in that all encompassing way, the passionate way, the way I need my best friend, the way I need my father. I want you to hold me, kiss me, make love to me, hold my hand, give me a stupid pet name, ask me to stay, tell me you need me, tell me I am enough, tell me we can leave together, go somewhere where it is only me and you and sun and moon and light and dark and Spring and Autumn and forever. Maybe we could take a vacation and find snow and everything can be grayed out but the glow of your hair and eyes_, he wants to say. _Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._

Instead, he puts the box in his suitcase. He turns back to Carlisle who simply stands and looks at him in that burning way. Edward moves in to embrace him without meeting his eyes again. Carlisle's hands smooth over his back, through his hair, finally holding him close. Edward wants to say a lot of things, but instead he just says, "I love you, Carlisle."

"And I love you, Edward, always."

And they go on.

Sometimes they accidentally touch and jump at the pain of it. They pretend they are not carrying this world of sorrow so heavy it is difficult to breath, move, stretch without falling apart. Edward pretends when Carlisle smiles at him, he does not just want, want, want. He pretends Carlisle never thinks of him; he pretends not to catch the more than spare thoughts from Carlisle about Edward's arms, his hips, the song he started and never finished, still has not finished.

They go on and they love and laugh. Their smiles are there, so practiced they could be true, sometimes are true, and because they are inhuman, they have so much room for love, thank God. Carlisle can love Esme and Edward can love Bella and they all love each other like tomorrow might be the end of it all.

Suppression.

Denial.

Suppression.

Denial.

Always, always.


End file.
